Cross Country Case: Pacific Crime
by Peonywinx
Summary: Crossover with NCIS and CSI:NY. Representatives from both D.C. and NYC arrive at OSP to continue a high-profile case. A fourteen-year-old secret holds the answers they need, but it won't be easy working through something this complicated and personal.
1. Prologue

**_A/N: Yes, I am well aware of the fact that it's not technically the 3rd of March yet on FanFiction - but it is where I am, and I just couldn't wait! XD So, welcome, one and all, to the third and final installment of this criminal crossover trilogy. First, though, here are a few things you might like to know:_**

**_The timeline for this is set in_ _CSI:NY Season 6, NCIS Season 7, and NCIS: Los Angeles early to mid Season 3_**. _**Yes, I KNOW that NCIS:LA was only in its first season during NCIS Season 7, and so this time continuity is rather impossible and thus a little AU - but this is FANFICTION. Also, this fic is longer than its other two counterparts, being twelve chapters and a prologue long instead of eight chapters and a prologue. But I needed to wrap up all the loose ends, give everyone adequate screentime, resolve issues, etc. etc. Hence the longer length.**_

___**For those who are newcomers to this trilogy, I welcome you too - but I strongly recommend you read the first two stories before this one, as they are all interconnected. You can find them on my profile.**_

___**Next thing: put your thinking caps on, people! This final story is going to take you through all sorts of twists and complications, and you'll need your head on straight to make it out with a proper understanding of the case and the trilogy as a whole. Case in point: this particular story starts with a prologue that takes you back fourteen years. Don't say I didn't warn you.**_

_**And lastly, but not least, enjoy!**_

* * *

><p><strong><em>Cross-Country Case: Pacific Crime<em>**

**Prologue**

_21:39, December 20, 1997; Washington, D.C._

The preppy young bartender set several glasses of alcohol down in front of her four customers, smiling at them.

"Can I get you anything else?" she queried.

"We'll let you know, sweetheart," said one of the men, winking at her.

The bartender nodded and went off to serve someone else.

"Good evening," she greeted the man who had just come in and sat down on the stool. "What can I get you?"

"Martini, dry," he ordered.

"Coming right up," she agreed, shaking a bottle.

As she poured his drink out for him, she noticed his gaze straying to the four men she had just served. She could understand his curiosity; this bar was a fairly common joint for Marines, but anyone who was new – as her customer certainly was – would be staring at the four soldiers, with their buzz cuts and Navy uniforms.

"They're something else, aren't they?" she said lightly as she handed him his drink.

"Yes, they are," her customer replied in his smooth, urban voice.

Across from them, the group of Marines laughed and slapped each other jovially on the back, obviously responding to some joke one of them had told. One of them raised his hand, and the bartender went over to see what they wanted.

"Would you like anything else?" she inquired.

"No, we're done for the night." The Marine who had spoken to her earlier handed her several bills. "The colonel here has to get home to his daughter," he added teasingly, giving a friendly nudge to the dark-brown-haired man next to him.

"Shut up, Wilson," his friend retorted.

Wilson chuckled.

The bartender smiled as she handed them their change. "All right. Goodnight, gentlemen."

The Marines returned the sentiment politely and walked out. The bartender cleared their glasses, then turned to her other customer; she was surprised to see him leaving his half-finished drink on the counter as he followed the Marines out.

"Hey!" she called. "Aren't you gonna pay for that?"

"Just put it on my tab, will you?" the man told her over his shoulder. "I'll come back and pay later."

"What name should I put on the tab?" she inquired.

The man was already halfway out the door.

"Ernest St. James."

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: Yep, it's short. Don't worry - the chapters are longer. This is just a little something to get the ball rolling.**_

___**Reviews, of course, are much appreciated!**_


	2. Chapter One

_**A/N: Okay, so I've got only three reviews, but lots of favorites and alerts - it's good to know people are still following this story :D Thus, there are lots of familiar names in my inbox. Thanks to** Takoh, Pondera 2.0, montydam, rynni is happy, cms4ever, PsychicPineapples, **and **DS2010 **for adding this story to either alers o****r favorites. Special thanks to my three reviewers**__leathman, idiot9and602, **and **TwilightPony21_. _**You guys made my day!**_

_**Now, I know the prologue was very mysterious, but I promise you, it's a mystery that's solved eventually. However, before you read on, I thought a quick recap may be necessary to refresh your memory of what has transpired so far in this trilogy. Please bear with me, because the recap will make this author's note a little long.**_

_**Back in the 1990s, a group of people hijacked a truck transporting jewels from a mine. This was the beginning of the smuggling ring that would later become Main Wave. Main Wave's key operatives grew to include Ernest St. James, the leader; Kendall Wilcox, his second-in-command; Wilcox's brothers, Vincent and Linnaeus; Linnaeus' wife, Marie; and Kendall's stepdaughter, Janice Bright. **_

_**As the years went by, Main Wave attempted to expand across the country. The first few attempts were unsuccessful, resulting in the death of a thirteen-year-old named Anna Winston in Washington, D.C. in 1996. Winston's murder was never solved, and years later her two best friends, Leah Jasper and Daniel Wells, both became officers in the Navy in order to be able to gain access to old case files. In the course of their joint investigation, they uncovered more evidence about Main Wave than anyone had before, and both were eventually killed to protect the ring - Jasper by Vincent Wilcox in New York, Wells by Ernest St. James in D.C. Vincent was arrested by NYPD, while Gibbs' team caught Kendall. Janice Bright, a college enemy of Leah Jasper who was stealing jewelry for Main Wave, was also arrested for the murder of the judge who had put her in prison for theft.**_

_**_**This leaves, St. James, Linnaeus, and Marie still at large. All three fled to Los Angeles, where the case is now, and that is the material of this story.**_  
><strong>_

_**So, without further ado, I give you the first full chapter of **Pacific Crime._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

_09:00, November 2 (the present); NCIS: OSP, Los Angeles_

"You have seriously got to stop your bad punctuality habits," Sam Hanna complained as he and his partner, G Callen, walked into OSP.

"Bad punctuality?" Callen repeated in mock indignation. "I picked you up at 8:30. What's wrong with that?"

"You told me you'd come at 8:45."

Callen considered that with a puzzled expression as he slung his bag behind his chair. "So you're complaining 'cause I was early?"

"You're usually late."

"Then why are you complaining?" Callen asked.

"Because," Sam said, "since you're usually late, I figured 8:45 meant nine o' clock. So I planned to be ready by nine o' clock. Instead you show up 8:30, half an hour earlier."

"Is that why you forgot your socks?" Callen inquired innocently, with a pointed glance at Sam's sockless feet in his shoes. The bigger man glared at him.

"I have a spare pair in my locker."

"Uh-huh. In case you forget them – like you did today."

"I intentionally left them behind in favor of saving time, since I knew I had an extra pair here."

"You forgot them."

Sam shook his head. "You're deluding yourself."

Callen held up his hands, stifling a smile. "I'm not the one denying I forgot my socks."

"I'm not denying anything – I _didn't _forget my socks."

"If you say so." Callen sat down in his chair; he was openly smirking now.

Sam nodded. "I do. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to my locker to get the spare socks which I _knew _I had."

"Has anyone seen Deeks?" Kensi asked as she entered the bullpen.

"Uh, I think he's surfing," Callen replied. "He mentioned something about a 'wicked swell' today or something."

"Yep, he's surfing," Nell interjected from the upper level. "Eric's not here either – and whenever both Eric and Deeks are missing, you know they're surfing."

"They'd better get in by 9:30, or Hetty will kill them," Callen commented.

Kensi laughed at that. "Oh, hey, Sam," she greeted, as said agent came back to his desk with a pair of socks in his hand. "Forgot your socks?"

Now it was Callen's turn to laugh as Sam frowned.

"_No,_"Sam insisted. "I kept an extra pair here, so I went to get them."

Kensi smirked. "Uh-huh. That's why you're wearing shoes without socks."

Sam rolled his eyes and huffed irritably as Callen gave Kensi a high-five for successfully annoying the former SEAL.

"You're both comedians," Sam muttered as he kicked off his shoes and pulled his socks on.

"Who's a comedian?" Deeks asked as he and Eric came in, their hair still wet from their surf and subsequent shower.

"Callen and Kensi," Sam replied as he put his shoes back on. "They won't quit bugging me about my socks."

Deeks looked puzzled as Eric climbed the stairs to Ops. "Why?"

"Ask them."

Deeks caught Kensi's eye, still dancing with mirth – but she just shrugged, and he decided it was one of_ those _things. So he said nothing more about it and instead settled down at his desk, next to Sam.

"Good morning, everyone," Hetty greeted, suddenly appearing in the bullpen.

"Morning, Hetty," Callen replied.

"I trust you all had a good night's sleep?" the Operations Manager said.

Sam shrugged. "It was all right."

"Good," said Hetty, "because we've got a new case." Her employees were already halfway up the stairs to Ops before she called, "Where are you going?"

Kensi looked puzzled. "Up to Ops, so Eric can brief us."

"Mr. Beale won't be briefing you, Miss Blye."

The agents exchanged glances.

"This is a big case," Hetty continued. "As such, Director Vance has sent a team from NCIS Headquarters to help us. _They _will brief you."

"Okay," said Callen, coming back down the stairs. "When will they arrive?"

"They're already here, Mr. Callen."

* * *

><p>"Boss, are you sure we're in the right place?" Tony asked, frowning at the large red 'CONDEMNED' sign on the wall of the building.<p>

McGee, even though he was the one who had accompanied Gibbs on the last trip to L.A., was equally bewildered.

"Gibbs, I don't think this is the place," he said. "I remember the entrance was in an alley, last time – and this definitely doesn't look like where we went."

"So we _are_ in the wrong place," Tony surmised.

"Really?" said Gibbs. "Then why are they coming out?"

Tony and McGee stared as four people came out of the door to greet them.

Gibbs parked the car and everyone got out. A minute later, another car pulled up and parked next to Gibbs' vehicle – and Ducky, Ziva, and Abby climbed out. Abby had a bright grin on her face – of all the people on Gibbs' team, she was the only one who had been to OSP's current headquarters.

"Callen," Gibbs greeted his old friend. Callen grinned at him and gave him a one-armed hug.

"It's good to see you again, Gibbs."

"Likewise," Gibbs agreed.

Tony stared. "They know each other?"

"Sure do," Callen replied. "We've saved each other's lives several times." While Tony processed this, Callen offered him his hand. "I'm Callen."

Tony shook his hand. "Callen…?" he inquired.

Callen smiled slightly – but it was a sad, wistful smile. But before he could answer, Abby ran up to him, grinning from ear to ear and calling, "Hi, G Callen!"

Callen grinned right back at her and said, "Hi, Abby Sciuto," as he gave her a hug.

"I missed you," said Abby.

Meanwhile, McGee was busy catching up with Sam. Kensi made her way over to Ziva and introduced herself and Ziva, recognizing a common spirit in Kensi, smiled as she returned the favor. Really, it was all-out milling around for about three minutes; everyone was pretty much acquainted with each other even before Hetty came out to see what was taking so long.

"Ah! Jethro! Dr. Mallard," she called; the OSP agents frowned at the obvious familiarity in her tone. "It's wonderful to see you both again."

"Hetty," Gibbs acknowledged with a hint of a smile.

Ducky was a bit more expansive in his greeting. "Good morning, Henrietta," he wished her. "You're looking as spiffy as ever."

Hetty smiled. "One tries, Donald."

Tony was nearly having a coronary trying to figure out all the connections his team apparently had with the Los Angeles group.

"Okay, so…Gibbs knows Callen," he said, pointing at said two agents, "and Abby and McGee know practically everyone here…and Gibbs and Ducky know…um…" He almost said, "the tiny lady" – but he decided at the last minute that that wouldn't be a good idea.

"Henrietta Lange, Tony," Ducky supplied.

"Hetty," Hetty corrected.

"Hetty," said Tony.

"And while it is a wonderful thing to chit-chat and catch up on old times," said Hetty, "I believe we have a case to work?"

"Yes, we do," agreed Gibbs. "Where's your Ops room?"

"Oh, follow me," Abby interjected brightly, rushing into the building and pulling a bemused McGee along with her. "Come on, McGee – they've got even better toys now than they did when you came."

* * *

><p>Eric was excitedly telling Nell about the 'awesome' waves at the beach this morning when the door opened, admitting more people than had ever been in Ops before. Eric sprang up from his seat when he saw Abby.<p>

"Abby!" he exclaimed.

Abby waved excitedly. "Hey, Eric," she returned brightly. "I'm back."

Grinning from ear to ear, OSP's lead techie gave the bubbly forensic scientist a bear hug. Then he looked over her shoulder and his eyes widened in surprise as he saw all the people with her.

"Wow," he said.

Abby nodded, beaming hugely. "Eric Beale, meet Special Agents Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Timothy McGee, Anthony DiNozzo, Ziva David – and Ducky."

"Ducky?" Nell repeated.

"Donald Mallard, my dear," Ducky explained. "But I'm known as Ducky to my friends."

Nell smiled as she shook his hand. "Hi, Ducky. I'm Nell Jones, and this here" – she nudged Eric with a slight bump of her hip – "is Eric Beale."

"My pleasure," Ducky greeted.

The other Washington visitors murmured similar greetings before Gibbs cleared his throat pointedly and Hetty, taking the hint, said, "Mr. Beale, would you mind letting Agent McGee use your technology in order to brief us on their – well, I should say _our _– case?"

Without a word, Eric moved aside to allow access to McGee – who, if his unsuccessfully hidden, not-so-subtle grin was anything to judge by, was obviously thrilled to be able to touch such superb technology again.

Within seconds, the agents had all quieted, ready to hear the briefing.

McGee cleared his throat and began.

* * *

><p>It was two hours later when McGee finally finished briefing the Los Angeles team on all aspects of the convoluted case the D.C. agents had been working on. There was a beat of silence as he wrapped it up. Callen was the one who broke the pause first.<p>

"So this Ernest St. James character is in L.A. to perform a final jewel heist before disappearing off grid along with the rest of Main Wave?" he summed up.

"That's right," Tony agreed.

"And so are Marie and Linnaeus Wilcox?"

"Yep," said Abby, bobbing her head.

"Eric…" Callen didn't even need to finish.

"No problem, Callen." Eric cracked his knuckles over his keyboard. "If they're in L.A., I'll find them."

"Nell…"

"I'll run background checks on all jewel suppliers and jewelry stores in the city and see if I can find any connection to Main Wave."

"Wow," Abby commented, tilting her head. "He's just like you, Gibbs."

Callen smiled at her before plowing on. "Sam and I are going to have a look around the neighborhood – see if we can spot a possible location for Main Wave's headquarters. Kensi, Deeks, drive up to Pendleton and see if you can find out more about Anna Winston's homicide fifteen years ago. A few of the veterans at Pendleton were stationed in D.C. around the time of her murder."

"You got it," Deeks agreed.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: Next chapter coming tomorrow!**_


	3. Chapter Two

**_A/N: Thanks to _**_Rebel Magnus, andrewjeeves, Golden Pikachu, Mickey-Phil, ladyyuuki16, shootingstarsareawesome,_**_ and _**_bookworm125_**_ for adding this fic to either favorites or alerts. Also, thanks to my five reviewers _**_DizzyDrea, leathman, TwilightPony21,__ ladyyuuki16,_**_ and _**_DS2010_**_ for reviewing._**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Two<strong>

_12:13, November 2; Camp Pendleton, Los Angeles_

"Wow," Deeks commented as he and Kensi got out of the car. "So this is what the famous Camp Pendleton looks like." He made to walk forwards, but Kensi cut him off, blocking his way.

"Okay, Deeks, before we go in, I want to lay down a few ground rules," she said.

"Ground rules?" her partner repeated. "That doesn't sound good."

"One," said Kensi, "this is my turf, so let me lead the interviews."

"Be my guest," Deeks said. "I wouldn't know the first thing to say to these guys, anyway." He looked towards a platoon of men jogging around the track, all wearing uniform white singlets and grey sweat pants.

"Two," Kensi continued, "do not, under any circumstances, bring up Fallujah or Afghanistan."

"Why?" Deeks wanted to know.

"Because they're the worst places a soldier can get stationed in – they're violent, bloody, messy – and more often than not, they're the sites of the greatest tragedies in the U.S. military." She paused, thinking. "On second thought, don't mention anything related to the Middle East – we're here to find out about Anna Winston's murder, not a Marine's."

Deeks blinked. "Okay, not mentioning Fallujah or Afghanistan or any other Middle East country, got it. What else?"

"Don't worry if a guy with a black dragon tattoo on his arm suddenly attacks me."

Deeks stared. "What?" he barely had time to say, just before the aforementioned dragon tattoo guy came up behind Kensi and pounced on her. "Hey!" Deeks began, on the verge of whipping out his gun.

"Don't worry!" Kensi reminded him as she dropped out of Dragon Tattoo's grasp and swept her leg under him.

Dragon Tattoo jumped and tackled Kensi to the ground, where the two of them engaged in a ferocious tussle. Meanwhile, Deeks looked on in shock, wondering how the hell he was supposed to 'not worry' when some random guy had just jumped Kensi out of nowhere.

Finally, though, Kensi elbowed her assailant, rolled over, and used her entire body weight to pin him to the ground.

"Do you surrender?" she asked between her panting breaths.

"Yeah, yeah." Dragon Tattoo sounded disgruntled. "For the fifth time in a row," he mumbled discontentedly.

Kensi grinned and got off him, then extended a hand to pull him up. Dragon Tattoo flashed her a grin before pulling her into a hug.

"It's good to see you again, Kensi," he said.

"Likewise." Kensi smiled.

"Um, not to interrupt the bonding moment or anything…" began Deeks, "but could someone please explain to me what the heck that was all about?"

Dragon Tattoo chortled. "Seems your partner's not used to seeing army wrestling matches."

"He's LAPD," Kensi explained.

"Ah." Dragon Tattoo offered his hand to Deeks. "I'm George."

Deeks shook his hand. "George…?" he inquired.

"Just George. At least three other people on this base have the same last name as me, and unlike some of the guys here, I really don't have any hang-ups about being addressed by my rank – so everybody calls me George."

"George was in my father's unit," Kensi put in. "I saw a lot of him around the house. He took care of me after my dad died."

"What about your mom?" Deeks blurted.

"Don't ask," Kensi muttered, leaving Deeks wondering what she wasn't telling him. "But after my dad died, George was kind of like my mom." She grinned at him.

"Well, what kind of best friend would I be if I didn't do my best to help my CO's daughter?" George smiled fondly at Kensi. "So, what brings you here? I wasn't expecting you till the weekend."

"Work," Kensi replied. "We're investigating a smuggling ring that's linked to several murders. Two of the victims were Marines, but we believe that the first homicide the smugglers committed occurred back in '96. A thirteen-year-old girl named Anna Winston was killed in D.C." Kensi showed him the girl's photo – taken from Leah Jasper's laptop – on her phone. "You were in D.C. then. Does she look familiar?"

George peered closely at the photo. "Anna Winston…" he mused. "Yes, her name does sound familiar – she was all over the news. MPs found her body off a hiking trail through the woods. The case was never solved. Although there was a mention of a smuggling ring…" He looked thoughtful.

"Main Wave," Kensi agreed. "We believe Anna may have stumbled onto something she wasn't supposed to, and the smugglers killed her to keep her quiet. Her best friend was Leah Jasper, who became a lieutenant-colonel in the Navy while attempting to solve her murder. Jasper was killed a week ago by Vincent Wilcox, one of the smugglers."

"Yeah, I heard about that," said George. "She died in New York, didn't she?" Kensi nodded. George sighed. "Poor girl," he said sympathetically. "She was on the news back then, too – she was subjected to a load of unwanted publicity because of Anna's death. There was another friend, a boy, I think…"

"Daniel Wells?" Deeks guessed.

"Yep, that's the one."

"He was murdered too," Deeks stated matter-of-factly, wondering if George had heard about his death too.

Apparently not.

"You're kidding." George stared. "Why?"

"He was also investigating Anna's murder," Kensi answered. "Both he and Jasper were killed because they got too close."

"Sounds like you've got yourself a really big case," George remarked.

"Very big," Deeks agreed.

"We're trying to bring down Main Wave," added Kensi. "We've tracked the leader and two other members here to L.A., and we're trying to get all the information we can on them and their activities."

"When you say 'we'…" George began.

"My team," Kensi clarified. "And a team from D.C. who helped NYPD investigate Jasper's murder."

"Uh-huh. Anything else I should know?"

"We've got a deadline. Main Wave's planning a big heist on the 9th, and after that they're going to disappear. They'll only resurface when they've reworked their identity, and when it's safe for them."

"And by that time all the leads will be cold." George sighed. "Okay, Kensi – you tell me what you've got so far, and I'll try to fit it in with what I can remember from my time in D.C. But let's take it inside – the other guys will want to hear about this too. Hell, they might even be able to help."

"Other guys?" Deeks questioned.

"The rest of my dad's unit," Kensi explained. "They were all in D.C."

"The Winston murder was a pretty big case," George added. "I'm sure they all remember it."

"Lead the way," said Kensi.

* * *

><p>"Okay, so we've got three jewel suppliers operating from L.A. which might possibly be Main Wave under a different name," Nell was saying into the speaker phone. "I've sent the coordinates for their headquarters to your Smartphones."<p>

_"Thanks, Nell," _said Callen.

"I checked LAX security footage, and I managed to find Marie and Linnaeus Wilcox in one of the terminals after their flight landed," McGee put in. "Unfortunately, I can't tell you where they went after that. You might want to interview the airport officials."

_"Didn't you say that two NYPD detectives are coming over to help out?" _Sam inquired.

"Yes," McGee replied. "They didn't manage to get a flight today, but they'll be arriving tomorrow."

_"Good," _said Callen. _"Since they'll be at the airport anyway, you think you can get them to interview the staff?"_

"Um, yeah – shouldn't be a problem. I'll call them."

_"All right," _Callen acknowledged. _"Eric, how're you doing?"_

Eric sighed in resignation. "There are no Ernest St. Jameses living in Los Angeles, and all we have to go on is the description Kendall Wilcox gave us – which fits like half the men in L.A. – so no go there. But I've fed photos of Marie and Linnaeus into Kaleidoscope – I'll let you know when I get a hit."

"Hopefully the Wilcoxes can lead us to St. James, and from there we can plan our next move," Nell added.

_"Keep us posted," _Sam said.

"Will do," Eric agreed.

* * *

><p>Tony was bored.<p>

With McGee upstairs with Eric and Nell, the L.A. team out working the case, Abby looking all around the city for a place that sold Caf-Pow, and Gibbs, Hetty, and Ducky (or, as Tony liked to call them, the Golden Trio) having tea together somewhere, Tony and Ziva were left on their own in the bullpen. That might have been all right, if they weren't also sorting through hundreds of papers taken from the LAPD archives. And not just the documents that were about Main Wave, either – no, any case from 1990 onwards that showed even the slightest possibility of having anything to do with Main Wave had to be reviewed. The case was _that _big and _that _lacking in leads.

Ziva, predictably, was settling in well enough – but Tony was used to the muted noise of their office in D.C., and found the unusual quiet in the more informal hacienda unnerving.

Aside from which, he absolutely hated reading through documents.

The agent tapped his fingers against the wood of Sam's desk while his other hand thumbed through a case file concerning a jewel robbery in 2001. _Open file, view case, note key points for Main-Wave-related activity, close file, _he chanted in his head. He finished that file and took another. _Anything here? _he asked himself as he scanned through the lines. _Nope. Zilch, nada, moving on. _He tossed the file onto the 'viewed' stack and sighed.

"This is so not fair," he complained. "I mean, McGee's having the time of his life up in Ops, Abby's doing her own thing, and so's Gibbs and Ducky. How come _we're _always the ones stuck with the paperwork?"

"Life is not fair," was Ziva's pithy reply. She flipped a page on her file and suddenly straightened. "I've got something."

"Really?" Tony left his chair to look over her shoulder.

"It's a traffic accident from 1991," said Ziva. "A driver ran a red light and crashed into another car. There were no major injuries, but the other driver had a small bag of jewelry with him. The police thought nothing of it, but later that evening a jewelry store reported those same items stolen. LAPD tried to find the driver again, but they couldn't. The jewelry was never recovered."

"Interesting…" Tony remarked. "Is that the guy's photo? He fits the description Kendall gave us for St. James, doesn't he?"

"Yes, and with good reason." Ziva pointed him to the name. Tony stared incredulously.

"No way," he said disbelievingly. "We just found a face for Ernest St. James."

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: As usual, I'm updating daily. Oh, and I don't own **CSI:NY, NCIS,** or **NCIS: Los Angeles._

___**On a side note, I intend to start a series of one-shots known as the **Daymonth Collection**. You can find out more about this on my profile. The reason I mention this is because I want to hear your ideas about what I should write about. So, if you have something to say, don't hesitate to PM me and let me know.**_

_**See you all tomorrow!**_


	4. Chapter Three

**_A/N: I know quite a few of you have been looking forward to the New York characters making an appearance, so it is with great pleasure that I present them to you here. But first, thank you to all who reviewed - _**_leathman, DizzyDrea, lily moonlight,_**_ and _**_TwilightPony21_**_ - and thanks to _**_mutantxjulie_**_ for adding this to story alerts._**

**_Now, a quick word of warning - we're about to encounter a certain twist that will direct the path of the rest of the trilogy. It also brings in the personal element I mentioned in the summary for this story on my profile. So, with that in mind, let us see where it takes us, shall we?_**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Three<strong>

_13:22, November 3; LAX, Los Angeles_

"You've gotta be kidding me!" Flack's disbelieving voice echoed throughout the terminal. Not many people paid attention, however.

"Flack," Stella began from beside him, resting a hand on his arm; he shrugged it off and continued staring slack-jawed at the attendant behind the luggage counter.

"I don't believe this," he said irately. "It's a freakin' internal flight – how the hell can my luggage go missing?" After arriving this morning, then spending over three hours interviewing the airport staff about Marie and Linnaeus Wilcox, finding out that his suitcase was missing was absolutely the last straw for Don Flack.

"I'm sorry, sir," the attendant apologized, "but sometimes these things do happen. You have my assurance that we will do our utmost to locate and return your luggage to you."

"This is completely unbelievable, bloody unlikely, and incredibly –"

"Flack, just fill the forms so we can get out of here," Stella said. "I'd rather not spend any more time here."

Still grumbling under his breath, Flack filled in his particulars so the airport could contact him when they found his luggage. Then Stella pulled him away before he could take out more of his annoyance on the luggage counter attendant.

"This is just great," the third-generation detective said moodily. "What a way to start the stay in L.A. Now what am I going to wear?"

Stella had to restrain the urge to laugh. As irritating as the situation was to Flack, it was really nothing more than a nuisance, and was also somewhat funny.

"Come on," she said, tugging him along to the taxi stand. "I'll take you clothes shopping later. Right now we've got somewhere to be."

* * *

><p>When Stella and Flack arrived at OSP (driven there by Gibbs, who picked them up from the airport – as it would have been extremely odd and suspicious if a civilian driver had done the deed), they found the Ops room in a state of near chaos. Practically everyone involved in the Main Wave case was crammed into it (the only persons <em>not <em>there were Hetty and Ducky), and several people were talking at once.

"I've got him! I've got him!" Eric was crowing.

"Kaleidoscope came through," Nell said at almost the same time.

"Eric, pull up the feed," Callen commanded, just as Tony said, "That's him, all right – I recognize him from the photo."

"Hey!" Gibbs called loudly, drawing everyone's attention to him. "These are Detectives Stella Bonasera and Don Flack. Everyone say hi and let's get back to the case in an orderly manner. What's all the excitement about?"

Eric couldn't help a grin, even though he was quite intimidated by the former Marine. "I found Ernest St. James."

"Really?" Flack asked interestedly.

"Traffic cam on Hollywood Avenue picked him up this morning, coming out of a newsstand."

Stella smiled. "I don't know how you found him, but I like you already."

"Tony and Ziva found a photo of him in an old case file from 1991," McGee explained. "St. James may have paid someone to erase his name from the records, but it's not always possible to get to each and every case file. And a traffic accident from 1991 is about as obscure as you can get when you're looking for jewel theft records."

"Kensi, Deeks, talk to the newsstand owner – maybe he can give us a clue about the alias St. James is using," Callen instructed.

"Okay," Deeks agreed. "Come on, Kensi." He made to leave the room, only to find that his partner wasn't following him. "Kensi?"

The female agent was staring hard at the frozen footage of Ernest St. James, her lips moving soundlessly to form words that no one could read (as she was the only lip reader in the room).

"Kenz?" Callen inquired, with a hint of concern. "You all right?"

Abruptly, Kensi turned and stalked out of the room, leaving a surprised group of agents and detectives behind her. An indefinable chill suddenly descended on the previously optimistic atmosphere.

"What was that about?" Tony wanted to know.

"Don't know," Callen said, his brow creasing. Deeks was frowning at the door.

"She's upset about something," Abby diagnosed. She looked back at the screen. "Something about Ernest St. James is affecting her somehow."

"Maybe it's got something to do with what her father's friends told her about Anna Winston's murder," Sam suggested.

"What?" Flack glanced at him. "What are you talking about?"

"Kensi and I went up to Camp Pendleton yesterday to speak to some of the guys there about Anna Winston's murder," Deeks explained, tearing his gaze away from the door. "Kensi's father was a Marine; his unit was stationed in D.C. at the time of the homicide. We talked to them about it – they told us that Anna was found off a hiking trail in the woods. A couple of hours before she was killed, a load of jewels had been stolen from a factory in Maryland. When the police investigated, they found traces of a then-new brand of silicon carbide from the factory along the part of the trail where Anna was found."

"Thus linking Anna's murder to Main Wave, although they didn't know it then," Stella surmised.

"I don't get it," Flack confessed. "What does this have to do with Kensi's reaction to Ernest St. James?" By now everyone was listening to the conversation.

"I'm not sure," Deeks admitted. "But when Kensi's father found out that the MPs were going to close down the investigation because of inconclusive evidence, he volunteered to help. He worked on the case with the cops for two months before they finally gave up."

"Did you talk to Kensi's father?" Gibbs asked.

At this the whole L.A. team grew quiet. They stopped talking and started shifting their weight around, exchanging significant glances with each other while carefully avoiding everyone else's eyes.

"Well?" Gibbs demanded. "Did you or didn't you?"

"No, we didn't," Deeks replied finally, bringing his eyes up to meet Gibbs. "Kensi's father was murdered in D.C. a year after Anna Winston."

* * *

><p>It was eventually decided that Tony and Ziva would go to interview the newsstand owner about Ernest St. James – and as that was really their only lead at the moment (since Callen and Sam had found out yesterday that all three of the addresses Nell had dug up, while not entirely legitimate, were in no way smugglers' headquarters), Stella and Flack took off to get settled into their hotel and buy some clothes for Flack; while the L.A. team, with Abby's help, focused their efforts on finding Kensi, who had failed to reappear.<p>

The only problem was that Kensi was nowhere to be found that day. They searched the bullpen, checked all of her favorite spots downtown, and visited her home, but they still didn't find her. Callen even went so far as to ask Eric to check for activity with any of her established aliases, but there was still nothing. Then Callen went off to ask Hetty, but for once, even the miraculous Operations Manager didn't know where Kensi was.

"She's completely vanished," Deeks complained, not bothering to conceal his worry as they gathered once more in the bullpen.

"I'm sure she's fine," Abby said encouragingly. "She probably just went somewhere quiet to think."

"G, try calling her again," Sam urged.

Callen sighed. "I don't know why you think that'll work, Sam. It didn't the first five times, and Eric still hasn't got a hint that her phone's been switched back on…"

"Just try it," Sam insisted.

Callen got out his phone and dialed. His neutral expression morphed into one of utter disbelief when Kensi actually answered. Then it changed to a mixture of concern and annoyance.

"Kensi, where are you?" he asked, causing everyone to sit up straight at once.

"Speaker, speaker," Deeks said frantically.

"Hold on; let me put you on speaker," Callen said. He tapped the appropriate button and placed the phone on the table.

"Kensi," Deeks said with relief.

_"Hi, Deeks." _Kensi sounded flat and dull, which scared the LAPD cop. Kensi _never _sounded that lifeless.

"Kensi, are you okay?" Deeks inquired in concern.

_"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."_

None of them believed her, but they didn't comment on it.

"Kensi, where are you?" Callen asked again.

_"Don't worry, I'm not anywhere where I can get into trouble. I just need some time to think."_

"About what?" Sam questioned.

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

_"I…I can't explain it right now, but I promise I'll tell you everything tomorrow."_

"But –" Abby began.

_"Bye." _The line died.

Callen frowned at his inoffensive phone as he tucked it back into his pockets. Abby shuddered.

"Something about this case gives me the creeps," the Goth girl stated. "I mean, it was bad enough in New York and D.C., but there's something about the case being in L.A. that's making it…I don't know…"

"Complicated," Sam offered. Abby nodded.

"Exactly. Very complicated."

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: I wasn't kidding when I said personal. Just how Kensi's father connects to Main Wave you will find out in later chapters. Until then, I look forward to receiving your reviews.**_

___**P.S. I also would love to hear your ideas for my in-the-works **Daymonth Collection**, which you can find out more about on my profile.**_


	5. Chapter Four

**_A/N: And today, we find out just how personal this case will be for one Kensi Blye, as well as realize the significance of the prologue. Please keep in mind that I wrote this before the _**_Blye, K._**_ episodes aired, and thus created my own interpretation of Kensi's father's death - so I guess that makes this plot AU now. And obviously, my trilogy totally disregards what those two episodes told us about Kensi's history. But really, who cares?_**

**_Thanks to _**_DS2010, leathman, lily moonlight, castlencis,_**_ and _**_DizzyDrea_**_ for reviewing. Additional thanks to _**_castlencis_**_ for favoriting. Thanks, guys!  
><em>**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Four<strong>

_15:52, November 3; Camp Pendleton, Los Angeles_

Kensi turned off her phone once again so Eric couldn't trace her. She did feel a little guilty about leaving her teammates so much in the dark about her whereabouts – she knew they had to be worried, especially after the way she ditched them in Ops – but having them find her just wasn't an option. After seeing the picture of Ernest St. James – a face which matched the face of the man who'd been the police's prime suspect in her father's murder – she needed time to think, and to consult with a man she'd known almost all her life – a man who'd served as her surrogate father after her own died.

"You sure you want to do that?" George asked from opposite the table they were sitting at in his room.

Kensi sighed, but she said, "I'm sure. I can't have them asking me questions now." She turned her gaze to George. "You, on the other hand…"

George raised an eyebrow. "Me?" he asked innocently.

"Don't play coy with me, George Wilson. I know you were holding something back when you told us about Anna Winston's case yesterday. What is it?"

"Kensi, I don't think it really –"

"I just found out that the man who probably killed my father is the leader of the smuggling ring that three groups of law enforcement from both sides of the country are trying to pin," Kensi cut him off. "I don't care whether you think I should know what you know, but you're going to tell me regardless. I've lived for fourteen years knowing that my father's murderer is still out there, and knowing that you didn't tell me everything about his death – and now that I have a chance to get him once and for all, I'll be damned if I'm letting it go to waste."

George sighed. "Sometimes the truth hurts, Kensi. The only reason I didn't tell you everything was to protect you."

"I'm not an insecure teenager anymore, George."

He regarded her through shrewd eyes. "No, you're not. All right," he relented. "Look, your dad was really involved in the Winston case. When he first heard about her death, he was really sorry about it. He followed the case with a vested interest. When he heard they were shutting it down because of lack of evidence three months later, he couldn't allow that. He felt that a great injustice was being done, and he jumped right in and offered his help. With him on board, the police managed to unearth a bit of extra evidence that linked Anna's murder to that smuggling ring. Your father was the one who led the hunt for Ernest St. James, and they nearly got him too – but he managed to escape because there wasn't quite enough evidence to convict. St. James disappeared two days after he was acquitted – he virtually vanished off the face of the earth, and without him, there wasn't a case anymore. The Winston murder was closed and left to grow cold with the other unresolved cases. Your father wasn't happy about it at all, but even he couldn't do anything this time.

"A couple of months later there was a fire in the building that housed the archives of case files. All hard copy files were destroyed. Your father suspected St. James, and he started his own investigation into the man. But when he tried to access the electronic copies of the Winston murder, there wasn't a trace of St. James in the system."

"He paid someone to erase his records," Kensi surmised. "And the fire took care of the paper documents."

"Exactly," George agreed. "Your dad continued to try to find St. James on and off for the next year. The night he was killed, we were at a bar, having some drinks. When we left, he said he wanted to go somewhere for a bit, but he'd meet us back at base. We didn't think anything of it, and I'm ashamed to say we weren't even suspicious – probably because we all had one too many drinks. Anyway, he left and we went back to base. And you know what happened after that."

"He didn't come home." Her tone was matter-of-fact, but her eyes were sad. George sighed heavily.

"No, he didn't. When his body was found, the Navy began an investigation straight away, of course. They questioned all of us in his unit, then they went to the bar and interviewed the bartender who'd served us that night. She claimed that there'd been another customer who had been studying us and then followed us out after we left. When she called him out for not paying for his drink, he told her to put it on his tab. And guess what name he gave her?"

"Ernest St. James?"

"Yup. The Navy started a manhunt for St. James all over again – but as usual, after doing his dirty deed, he simply went Houdini on us. The tab _was _paid, though – via a teenage boy who came in and said he was paying up for 'Ernest St. James'. He was questioned and then sent on his way when it was clear he didn't know anything. Eventually, they had to close that investigation too, because the trail had just gone stone cold, just like all the others."

"And Ernest St. James escaped to kill another day," Kensi summed up, with a bitter note in her voice.

"He sure did, didn't he," George concurred. His expression turned thoughtful. "You know, to this day, we don't actually know why he chose to use his real name for that tab. I mean, after all the fuss D.C. kicked up about him for Anna's murder, and after going to all that trouble to erase his name from the records, he just up and gave his name to the bartender. But I bet he did that to leave us a message."

Kensi's face darkened into a scowl. "I wouldn't put it past him. He likes to play games. He's been behind this whole mess of crimes, past and present, for years."

"Kensi, you have to be careful," George said seriously. "I don't think St. James knew your dad had a daughter, but if he does find out, he may try to eliminate you too – especially now that you know what you know. There was a reason I kept this from you."

"Don't worry, I can take care of myself."

"Yeah, that's what your dad thought too, whenever we tried to get him off St. James' case. He was hell-bent on catching the guy – and between you and me, I think there was a little more to it than just finding the man who killed an innocent girl." He hesitated. "His determination got him killed. Don't make the same mistake, Kensi, please."

"George." Kensi managed to smile at him. "I've got the best team on the West Coast looking out for me. I'll be fine." She stood up. "I gotta go. See you next time?"

"Always," he replied, giving her a hug.

* * *

><p>Tony squinted against the bright glare of the afternoon sunlight and automatically whipped out a pair of sunglasses to shield his eyes.<p>

"It's really sunny around here, isn't it?" he remarked to Ziva, who was locking the car. "You never see this sort of light in D.C."

Ziva shrugged, her eyes hidden behind her own pair of sunglasses. "I don't see the difference."

"It's the texture of the light, Ziva," Tony started to explain. "In D.C., it's kind of…I don't know – muted – and here it's more like –"

"Tony, focus," Ziva reminded him as they made their way to the newsstand. The man behind the booth looked up from his magazine and smiled at them.

"Afternoon," he greeted amiably, rising from his seat. "What can I do you for?"

"You could answer our questions," Ziva suggested, as they displayed their badges. The man's face fell.

"I hate these things," he mumbled. Then he gave a resigned sigh. "All right, let's get this over with. What do you wanna know?"

"Do you recognize this man?" Tony asked, showing him a photo of Ernest St. James.

The newspaper vendor shrugged. "I don't know – my stand gets a lot of business, you know. I can't remember every face."

"Try," Tony pressed.

The vendor grumbled something under his breath, but peered more closely. "He _does_ look familiar," he admitted. "But I can't quite place him."

"He bought a paper from you this morning," Ziva supplied, hoping to jog his memory.

"Oh, yeah – now I remember," the vendor recalled. "That's Adam Miller. Comes by about once a week. Nice chap. Polite, smooth, good conversationalist. Pretty typical guy."

"Is that so?" Tony asked rhetorically, sharing a significant glance with Ziva. They both knew from their many years of field work that the 'typical' guys, the ones who could blend in perfectly with ordinary people – those were the ones you had to watch out for. 'Typical' people were the most dangerous of all.

"Do you know where we can find him?" Ziva inquired.

"Look, lady, just because I sell newspapers doesn't mean I like to gossip. I don't spend a lot of time talking to people. If Adam here ever mentioned where he lived, I didn't notice it, and I sure don't remember it."

Ziva sighed. "All right," she relented. "Thank you for your time." She and Tony walked back to the car.

They hadn't got much, but they did have a name – and it sounded like a name that would actually get them somewhere, unlike Ernest St. James. Tony dialed a number into his phone.

"Hey, McGee – tell Eric to run the name Adam Miller. The newspaper guy gave us that as St. James' alias."

_"Will do. Is that all you got from him?"_

"Unfortunately, yes," Tony admitted. "Let me know if you find anything." He terminated the call.

* * *

><p>McGee leaned back thoughtfully in his chair as Eric typed away next to him.<p>

"Ernest St. James is smart," he grudgingly admitted. "He picked two of the most common names around for his alias. There must be at least a dozen Adam Millers in L.A."

Eric cast him a sideways glance. "You've never actually located civilians electronically, have you?"

"Well…" McGee considered. "Not _personally_, but –"

Eric grinned. "Then sit back and watch the magic." He typed in a few more key words, added St. James' picture, and hit search. Within two seconds a series of files came up on the screen. Eric looked enormously pleased with himself. "And there he is," he said with deep satisfaction as he rang Callen's cell.

* * *

><p>"Something just doesn't sit right with me about this case," Sam commented as Callen drove them up to the address Eric had given them for Adam Miller.<p>

"Is it Kensi?" Callen asked.

"Kensi's part of it," Sam admitted. "Or maybe I just don't like the fact that this guy's gotten away with so many serious crimes."

"Never come across anyone like him before, that's for sure," Callen agreed, killing the engine. "We're here."

Sam observed the two-story house. "Tasteful but understated," he noted. "Adam Miller sure knows how to blend in."

They walked up to the front door and rang the bell. A few minutes later, a fresh-faced young woman with dark hair opened the door. Callen and Sam exchanged glances.

"Yes?" the woman asked uncertainly.

"We're looking for Adam Miller," Callen said. "Is he home?"

"No. He left today for a business trip. He'll be back on the 10th."

Sam raised an eyebrow. Apparently 'Adam Miller' was smart enough to stay away from home in the week leading up to the final Main Wave heist. And neither Sam nor Callen missed the fact that he would be back on the 10th, the day after the crime.

"I see," said Callen. "And you are…?"

"Ebony Miller. I'm his daughter."

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: Wheee! Things just got complicated (evil grin). Tune in tomorrow to find out just HOW complicated.  
><strong>_


	6. Chapter Five

**_A/N: Hullo again. I warn you right now - if the last chapter made things complicated, this chapter's gonna be a whopper. ;) _**

**_Thanks to _**_A S77_**_ and _**_sillymissy98_**_ for adding this story to favorites and alerts, and to _**_CallenHotchMcGarrettFan_**_ for doing that and adding me to author alert for good measure. And of course, a sincere thannk you to my reviewers _**_bjq, leathman, castlencis,_**_ and _**_TwilightPony21._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Five<strong>

_16:13, November 3; Macy's Plaza, Los Angeles_

"Hey, Stel, what do you think of this shirt?" Flack held up a dark brown garment for her inspection.

"I think you should stick to black," Stella said wryly.

"What about this?" He showed her the dark blue tee he had in his other hand.

"Not bad," Stella allowed. "But I have something better."

"Oh, you do, do you?"

"Yes, I do." Stella pulled him over to the nearest clothes rack and unhooked a collared, Bermuda blue shirt. Flack critically gave it a once over before quirking his lips into a small smile of mischief.

"Not too shabby, Bonasera," he remarked approvingly. "So that makes...four shirts you've picked out for me. When did you get so good at choosing my clothes?"

Stella just winked and laughed.

* * *

><p>"Ernest St. James has a daughter?" Tony asked, staring at Ebony Miller's form on the video feed from the room in the boathouse.<p>

"It would appear so," said Ziva.

"Think our old pal Kendall Wilcox knew about this?"

Ziva shrugged.

"Shh," Sam hushed them, intent on the video feed, which showed that Callen had just entered the interrogation room.

Callen walked easily to the chair and sat down in it. Ebony Miller looked up at him uncertainly; Callen hastened to put her at ease.

"You're not a suspect, Ebony," he assured her. "We just need to ask you some questions about your father."

"I don't know anything," she muttered.

"You may think that, but you might actually know more than you think you do," Callen told her.

"Look, Agent Callen – I swear, I really had no idea that my father was a jewel smuggler. I'm not even sure I believe that."

"I know it's difficult, but unfortunately, it's the truth." Callen opened the file he'd brought in with him and laid some photos on the table.

Ebony seemed to struggle with herself for a moment before turning her head away. "I'm not doing this," she said. "No matter what he may or may not have done, he's still my father. I can't turn him in like this."

"Ebony," Callen said earnestly, "I know it's hard for you to think of him that way, but he's hurt a lot of people." He gestured to the photos on the table. "Innocent people, like these."

"He's my _father_," Ebony insisted. "He loves me."

"I'm sure he does, and I'm sure you love him too. But we have evidence which proves he's committed several serious crimes, and if you don't help us, he'll continue to evade justice and hurt others."

Ebony looked torn. Callen leaned forward and continued gently, "Ebony, I wish I didn't have to do this. I really do. But it's my job to protect people, and right now, they need protection from your father. If you help us, no one has to get hurt. Please."

Ebony closed her eyes and sighed deeply. "What do you want to know?" she asked in a small voice.

Callen nodded and began, "When was the last time you saw him?"

"This morning. He gave me a hug on his way out and told me to look after myself while he was gone."

"What did he tell you he works as?"

"He said he was a spokesperson for a medical company. I don't know much more than that." Ebony looked apologetic. "He didn't really like to talk about his work much."

"Do you know where his office is?"

"I think he mentioned once that it was in the financial district or something."

"Did you ever suspect him of doing anything illegal?"

_"No."_

"Do you know of any of his 'colleagues'?"

"No."

Callen nodded; he'd expected as much. Ernest St. James had not gotten away with so many crimes by being careless, and he sure as hell hadn't reached where he was through stupidity. The NCIS agent switched his line of questioning.

"Did you ever notice anything strange about your father?" he queried intently. "Any odd behavior or things which didn't quite add up?"

Ebony sighed, clearly uncomfortable. "I don't know…I never had any reason to question him; I mean, I thought there was something off about that phone call, but…"

"What phone call?" Callen questioned.

Ebony looked faintly embarrassed. "It's nothing, really…you'll think it's stupid."

"No, I won't. Anything will help, even if it doesn't look like it will. What phone call?"

"Really, I'm sure it's nothing," she insisted. "I just…I came home two days ago to find him talking on the phone to some lady friend of his. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but really, it was hard not to notice the odd conversation."

"Odd how?" Callen asked.

Ebony blushed. "Well, he kept asking her how her 'eggs' were, and whether she'd 'completed her cycle'. He also wanted to know if she would be 'delivering her baby' soon." Her face was pink by the time she finished. "I never asked him about it, because it sounded like a really private conversation – I assumed he was talking to a pregnant client of his company or something. But…the really weird thing was that when he put down the phone, he turned to the news channel, and the anchor was reporting the details of a string of Marine murders across the country. I remember seeing a detective on the screen – I think they said his name was Mac Taylor from New York."

"What happened after that?"

"Well, my dad got this really strange look on his face, and then he got back on the phone and called the woman back. I know it was the same woman because he said, 'We need to take a rain check on a natural delivery. Let's go for a Caesarean'." Ebony paused. "Like I said, it was very weird. I figured that the news had nothing to do with it, and that he'd just remembered something he was supposed to tell the woman, so I didn't think anything more of it. I just walked through the front door after he put the phone down and pretended I'd just gotten back."

Callen kept his face smooth while his mind whirred. Clearly, the medical jargon was some sort of code. "What about your mother?" he asked. Ebony'eyes narrowed.

"What about her?"

"Where is she?"

"She died," Ebony said shortly. "A long time ago. I didn't really know her."

"Name?"

"Why does it matter?" Ebony demanded.

"Every little bit helps," Callen said calmly. "Name?"

Ebony exhaled. "Julia," she replied grudgingly. "Julia Blye."

Callen couldn't keep the shock off his face.

* * *

><p>From the main hall in the boatshed, neither could Sam. Tony and Ziva both whipped their heads around to stare at him.<p>

"Blye?" Tony repeated incredulously. "As in _Kensi _Blye?"

"No…" Sam muttered disbelievingly. "No _way_."

At that particular moment, the video feed from the interrogation room narrowed and shifted to one side of the screen as Eric's amazed face came into view beside McGee's bemused expression and Nell's blank mask.

_"Guys, I just looked into Ebony Miller's records. You are _never _going to believe what I just found."_

McGee continued, _"Ebony's mother is –"_

"Julia Blye." Sam was still wild around the eyes. Nell nodded as she completed the thought for him.

_"Kensi's mother."_

* * *

><p><em><em>_**A/N: Dun-dun-dun! What did I tell you? I will remind you again that the **Blye, K.** episodes do not exist in this universe, and so we're going to assume Kensi's team know who her mother is, even if they don't know what happened to her. Stay tuned and I'll catch you all tomorrow!**_


	7. Chapter Six

**_A/N: So, after a twisty last two or three chapters, things are going to tone down a BIT in this chapter, as everyone comes to terms with what's been revealed. _**

**_Thanks to _**_leathman, DizzyDrea, Rebel Magnus,_**_ and _**_DS2010_**_ for reviewing, and to _**_carrenu_**_ for favoriting._**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Six<strong>

_10:30, November 4; NCIS: OSP, Los Angeles_

November 4 was not, by any means, a particularly auspicious date for any of the assembled detectives, agents, or analysts involved in the Main Wave case – but due to its circumstantial placement directly after the day when so many astonishingly unbelievable revelations, previously hidden and shrouded in dark, had come to light, it would forever be a day to be remembered.

By one person especially.

Kensi Blye had walked back into OSP that morning to find _everyone _gathered in front of her desk, eyeing her warily. The junior agent assumed it was because of her disappearing act yesterday, so she hastened to tell them what she had learned from George; however, she got the feeling that although they were listening to her story, they weren't really paying attention to it. They kept shifting their eyes, shuffling their feet, fidgeting with their hands, etc. etc. Kensi finally demanded why they were all acting so strangely.

Stone cold silence met her query. Callen broke it first, awkwardly – which was a rare thing for the lead agent.

"Kenz…" he began, then broke off. "I don't know what to say…"

_"What?" _Kensi demanded.

At that point, Hetty broke in, taking charge. "Ernest St. James has a daughter. Her name is Ebony Miller. Callen interrogated her yesterday."

"So?" Kensi asked. "Are we any closer to finding out where he is?"

"Kensi, you may want to sit down," Hetty suggested gently. "This will be quite a shock."

_Uh-oh. _Kensi cringed; Hetty was using her first name. This couldn't be good. She remained standing, however. Hetty sighed.

"Ebony told us she has lived with her father all her life," Hetty continued. "Callen asked about her mother."

"And?" Kensi inquired warily.

"And her name is Julia Blye," Gibbs cut in bluntly; in his mind, they had no time to waste. Kensi's team was treating her as if she were fragile glass – but from what he had seen of her, she was tougher – much tougher – than to break at a simple bit of news, no matter how shockingly personal it was. "You and Ebony Miller are half-sisters."

Sam frowned at Gibbs, but Callen was more concerned about Kensi. The young agent had gasped out loud at Gibbs' revelation, and was gripping the back of a chair very tightly. Callen winced inwardly at the thought of the next question.

"Kensi, I hate to ask this, but…" Deeks hesitated, trying to find the gentlest way to say this. "We need to know about your mom."

Kensi exhaled slowly, regaining her composure. "I don't know much about her," she admitted. "All I know is she disappeared when I was five. Dad couldn't tell me where she went or if she would ever come back. But he swore to find her." She sighed. "I guess this explains why he was so intent on finding Ernest St. James. He must have figured out he had something to do with my mom's disappearance. George couldn't imagine why Dad was so intent on finding St. James."

There was a beat of silence; no one could figure out what to say.

Hetty spoke first. "Kensi, with this case hitting so close to home, perhaps it would be best if you –"

"Don't say it, Hetty," Kensi interrupted. "I'm _not _taking myself off the case, and you can't do it for me."

"And why is that?"

"Because you owe me."

Hetty held her gaze for a long moment before sighing. The other OSP agents exchanged puzzled glances; since when did Hetty owe Kensi? Only Callen imagined that it might have something to do with the subterfuge they had pulled by 'firing' Deeks.

"Very well, Miss Blye," Hetty acquiesced. "Mark my words, we _will _help you find the man who murdered your father."

"We all will," added Gibbs. Beside him, Abby nodded her head emphatically.

Then they all dispersed, agents and analysts alike, each heading off to do what they could to locate Ernest St. James and his base of operations.

It was time to catch a killer.

* * *

><p>"I think I know how we can find Ernest St. James," Nell announced to Eric, McGee, and Abby. The four of them had been relegated back to Ops.<p>

"You do?" Abby asked.

"Yes." Nell kept her eyes on the screen as she typed rapid commands. "We know what he looks like, we know he's working under the alias Adam Miller, we know what car he drives, we know his base is somewhere in the financial district of town, and we know he's likely using a medical establishment as a front. By compiling all this information and cross-referencing it with case data from the archive files and feeding the whole thing into Kaleidoscope, we _should _be able to pinpoint his location, especially if we continue to keep an eye out for suspicious jewel deals and bulk purchases of gem equipment."

"Nell, that's brilliant!" Eric exclaimed, tapping away at his own keyboard.

"McGee, can you help him with that?" Nell requested, rising and offering her place to the D.C. agent.

"Sure." McGee looked puzzled as he swapped places with her to continue her work. "You're not gonna help?"

"I think you two can handle it. I've got something else I want to look into."

McGee shrugged and started typing, but paused when he noticed Abby frowning in Eric and Nell's direction.

"What is it, Abs?" he inquired.

Abby immediately schooled her face into a bright grin. "Nothing, McGee," she replied, casting a last glance at the OSP technicians. "Absolutely nothing."

* * *

><p>Gibbs and Ducky sat across from Hetty at her desk, all three of them with steaming cups of tea in their hands. Hetty had her laptop open on the table and was bringing up the video footage of Ebony Miller's interrogation for them to watch.<p>

"Why do you need Ducky to analyze Ebony Miller?" Gibbs was asking. "Don't you have a psychologist of your own? I remember seeing him last time I was here."

"Nate Getz," Hetty affirmed. "However, he is no longer with OSP."

"A transfer?" Gibbs guessed.

"No. He became a field agent. He's currently overseas on an undercover mission."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "How long has he been undercover?"

"Close to two years now."

"And he hasn't been killed yet?"

"Not even a scratch." There was undisguised pride in Hetty's voice. Gibbs seemed impressed, and they both knew why; it was extremely rare to find an operational psychologist who was able to succeed as a field agent without getting killed.

"Here you go, Donald." Hetty turned her laptop so Ducky could watch the video.

"She seems sincere enough," Ducky analyzed when the footage ended. "She doesn't know anything about what her father's been up to, and she's telling the truth about her mother. Julia Blye is dead, or at least, Ebony believes so."

Hetty nodded sagely as she took a sip of her tea.

"You don't believe that, do you?" Gibbs said shrewdly.

"No, I don't. I do know that Kensi's mother disappeared for reasons unknown when her daughter was only five years old, but I do not believe she is dead. I also know she did not leave voluntarily."

"You think Ernest St. James might be keeping her prisoner somewhere?" Ducky asked.

"I don't know. I have Miss Jones working on finding Julia, but for the moment, I think it best if we say nothing of this to either Kensi or the rest of the team. Both our teams," she added, looking at Gibbs.

Gibbs just raised an eyebrow and downed the rest of his tea.

* * *

><p>Kensi leaned against the railing of the balcony, letting the cool wind ruffle her hair and soothe her hassled thoughts.<p>

Two days ago she had been completely unaware that there was a case big enough to bring a whole team of agents from NCIS HQ and two New York detectives to Los Angeles – and now, she was closer than she had ever been to finding out the truth about what happened to both her parents.

She could still remember the day her father had come home to tell her her mother was missing. As a five-year-old, she couldn't quite comprehend the fact, but days without her mother had soon convinced her that Mom wasn't coming back anytime soon.

As she grew, she became used to the fact that it was just her father and her. She was secure in the knowledge that she had her dad, and that he would always be there for her even if her mother wasn't.

And then came the day when even he vanished, too. Only unlike her mother, her father was found a day later, dead and mutilated so badly that dental records were required to ID him.

That was the day Kensi Blye, despite being only fifteen years old, became an adult.

But now…this case made her feel like a child again. In a span of just two days, she had found out why her father was killed, discovered that the man they were all chasing was his murderer, and been told that she had a half-sister who was also the daughter of the same man who had murdered her father.

"Kenz?"

Kensi half-turned to find Callen walking towards her.

"Hey," she greeted. "I was just…getting some fresh air."

Callen nodded as he stood next to her by the railing. "I can understand why you'd need it."

"How are the others getting along?" Kensi asked.

"Well, let's see…" Callen pretended to think. "Tony and Ziva are arguing about who's got the bigger pile of case files, Flack's telling them both to shut up, Stella's keeping her head down and trying to actually concentrate on her stack, and Sam and Deeks are coordinating their efforts to compile a workable timeline."

Kensi exhaled. "Let's hope we get something." She gazed out at the cars lined up in traffic on the street below. Callen watched her with inscrutable eyes. Kensi noticed, and glanced sideways at him. "What?"

"Are you okay?"

Kensi considered lying, but she knew he would see through it anyway, so she didn't bother.

"I don't know," she admitted. "It's…a lot to take in. I've lived my whole life not knowing what happened to either of my parents, and now, it's like I can find out everything – provided we catch St. James." She sighed. "I just want this case over with. I want things to go back to normal."

"Me too," Callen agreed. "Look, Kenz – you know I'm here if you need to talk, right?"

Kensi smiled. "Yeah," she agreed. "I do."

A loud whistle caught their attention; the two agents looked at each other for a second before rushing back into the bullpen, where Flack was rubbing his ears and complaining, "Beale, we're not dogs."

Eric shrugged apologetically, dropping back into his pocket the plastic whistle he'd used to augment his own significant breath volume. "You guys are gonna want to see this," he told them.

"We got a lead?" Tony guessed, bounding up the stairs two at a time.

"Better." Eric broke into a wide smile. "We got an address."

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: Up next - Flack gets stuck in a car with Tony and Deeks (grin) and we'll encounter someone we haven't seen in a while.**_


	8. Chapter Seven

**_A/N: We've seen a lot of heavy stuff lately, and I caan't say there won't be anymore, 'cause there IS - but I CAN bring things down a notch for this chapter before we get thrown into the fire again._**

**_Thanks to _**_DizzyDrea, sillymissy98, DS2010,_**_ and _**_leathman_**_ for reviewing. Thanks also to _**_kenmac_**_, who sent me feedback via PM._**

**_So, this chapter sees some inter-department bonding time, as well as the return of a certain two someones..._**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Seven<strong>

_10:20, November 5; Financial District, Los Angeles_

On Los Angeles' South Spring Street, a nondescript car was parked in a location that was strategically positioned in relation to a small, low-profile clinic on the lower end of the street. The car currently held three officers of the law: Tony, Flack, and Deeks. While normally Deeks didn't run surveillance without his partner, for this particular mission, it had been decided that a representative from each of the three law-enforcement organizations that were working the Main Wave case would cooperate on this, because each brought something different. Tony and Flack each knew about their respective sides of the case, and Deeks supplied his knowledge of the city and its inner workings.

However, most unfortunately for Flack, both Tony and Deeks had found in the other a kindred spirit, and were merrily passing away the time by regaling each other with tales of their office exploits and date nights. The New York detective was just about going stir crazy trying to ignore them.

"I like Los Angeles," Tony declared, looking at the sunlit morning sky from the car window. "It's bright, sunny, scenic, and full of beautiful, beautiful ladies." This last was said as a pair of smoking hot young women, dressed in long-sleeved, midriff-baring tops and short shorts, walked by the car – right within Tony's line of sight. The NCIS agent whistled appreciatively. "Even in the colder seasons, you've still got babes walking around dressed like _that_."

"Amen to that," Deeks agreed with a grin. "This city is the best."

Flack sighed. "I think I still prefer Manhattan," he said moodily. The New York officer was dressed simply in dark jeans and the blue shirt Stella had picked out for him two days ago.

"Aw, come on, Don," Tony said teasingly. "Even you can't say no to a pair of legs _that _long."

"We've got plenty of women in New York, too," Flack pointed out. "And back home, I at least have my wardrobe."

"They still haven't found your luggage, huh?" said Deeks sympathetically.

Flack shook his head morosely. "Nope." Then his expression brightened a little. "But, thank goodness I have Stella with me. She helped me shop for all the clothes I need for a week in under three hours."

"Never underestimate the capability of a woman in a department store," Deeks quipped. "I dragged Kensi shopping with me once, just to see how she'd react – and she wanted to get out of there so bad she walked me out in fifteen minutes with two neat sweaters and a pair of jeans – on sale, to boot."

"I can't believe you actually dared to do that," Tony said, shaking his head. "To _Kensi, _no less. That woman terrifies me almost as much as Ziva does."

"Buddy, if I were you, I'd be more scared of Kensi than Ziva," said Deeks.

Tony cringed as he mentally compared the two women. "No, I think Ziva definitely scares me more. Ex-Mossad, lethal with a gun, deadly in combat." He shuddered.

"Wonder who would win if the two of them were to spar," Deeks mused.

"Ziva, I'd bet," Tony said immediately.

"My money's on Kensi."

"What do you think, Flack?" Tony asked. "You're the neutral one here; who do you think would win in a fight: Ziva or Kensi?"

"I think," said Flack, leaning forward suddenly and pointing to a couple walking the street in front of the clinic they were staking. "That that couple over there looks very familiar."

Tony looked and nodded in confirmation, all talk of Ziva and Kensi forgotten. "Oh, yeah," he agreed. "I'd know those brown curls anywhere. Marie Wilcox."

"And her husband Linnaeus," Flack added. "Let's go say hello." He opened the door and got out. As he approached the pair, Deeks maneuvered the car so as to block their escape.

"Long time no see," Flack commented.

The Wilcoxes spun around, their eyes widening at the sight of Flack. Marie turned on her heel and tried to run, while Linnaeus attempted to dodge around Flack. But the detective easily caught the Huntington's-afflicted man, and Deeks had already cut Marie off from her escape route.

The last remaining Wilcoxes were finally in custody.

* * *

><p>The door to interrogation opened with a creak as Callen and Gibbs walked in, the former with a thick manila case file in his hand that he dropped onto the table with an ominous <em>splat <em>while Gibbs silently assumed his seat.

Marie Wilcox, alone, separated from her husband, fidgeted nervously.

Callen walked around her and leaned casually against the wall behind her. "Marie Wilcox. I've heard a lot about you. Nice to finally meet you."

Marie made to turn her head to face him, but Gibbs calmly said, "Uh uh. Eyes here" – and Marie gulped and turned back, trying to ignore the agent behind her.

"Look, Agent Gibbs, it's really not what you think…" she began. "Linnaeus and I are here on holiday."

"Then why did you run when you saw Detective Flack?" Callen inquired conversationally.

Marie opened her mouth and closed it again, lost for words.

"There isn't any point lying, Marie," Gibbs said, quietly calm, his eyes never leaving her face. "We know about your involvement with Main Wave. We know you worked with Janice Bright to smuggle the jewelry she stole out of New York. You brought it here with you, didn't you?"

"I…"

"You were supposed to deliver it to Ernest St. James," Callen interjected, coming around to the front. "That's what you were doing in front of that clinic. You knew it was a front for Main Wave."

"All I know is what Janice told me," Marie said. "I don't know anything about how those people work. We weren't even important – we just helped with the transport."

"We know," was Gibbs' simple reply. "Linnaeus' Huntington's is more aggressive than his brothers', so he couldn't help out with the more difficult aspects of the 'family business'. Instead, Kendall and Vincent got him to help move the goods from city to city. Main Wave operatives would deposit stolen jewelry, gems, and sometimes equipment in your house, and the items would all stay there until you transported them to their destination."

Marie swallowed apprehensively. Gibbs slid a sheet of paper from the case file.

"You did it once a year, around your wedding anniversary. You used that as an excuse to get out of town and travel to wherever you had to go. Your anniversary 'holidays' were about getting the goods to the next level of Main Wave, and getting paid."

"I gotta say, it's a pretty smart strategy," Callen commented. "Take holidays every year, move things, get a little extra cash. But," he added, "you weren't smart enough to do it for a legal operation."

Marie was visibly paling by now. "What's going to happen to me?" she asked in a small voice.

"Well, that depends," Callen replied. "See, we get the feeling that of everyone we've come across so far, you're the least involved in Main Wave. Sure, you transport the goods – but that's all you know. Your husband, on the other hand…"

"Leave Linnaeus out of this," Marie said sharply, showing the first signs of anger.

"Can't do that," said Gibbs. "Because he's Kendall's brother. Kendall was part of the original hijacking that started this whole thing, and he brought his brothers into it once they were old enough. That makes Linnaeus part of the inner circle, and that means he know things about Main Wave and Ernest St. James – things we need to know."

"Then why are you talking to me?" Marie demanded.

"Because he's not talking," Callen answered. "He's being surprisingly uncooperative. But even though he knows Main Wave, you're his wife. One cry of help from you would have him spilling everything he knew."

Marie inhaled sharply at the suggestion in Callen's statement. "You're asking me to act?" she said angrily. "To betray my husband?"

Gibbs cocked his head, once. "More or less."

"Never," Marie hissed.

"Look at it this way, Marie," Callen said gently. "He betrayed you."

"Linnaeus never –"

"Yes, he did." Callen's eyes brimmed with sympathy. "By bringing you into this business, he betrayed your trust. He made you a criminal and cheated you out of a normal life."

"I agreed to it," Marie protested, though she looked less sure of herself.

"But he pushed you, didn't he? He kept on pressuring you to help him until you finally committed yourself. You didn't want to do it, but you did it to make him happy."

Marie bit her lip. "He's my husband," she whispered. "I love him, and because of his disease, he's going to die in a few years."

"That doesn't give him the right to force you to break the law."

"No," Marie insisted. "I'm not doing this."

"It's not just you he's hurt, Marie," Callen went on, while Gibbs watched impassively. "Your friend Leah Jasper died trying to bring this ring down."

"Linnaeus had nothing to do with her death. Vincent killed her."

"But Linnaeus was involved. He knew what was going on. He knew Leah was your best friend. Yet he didn't do anything to stop her murder."

Marie shook her head. "No…"

"Linnaeus cares more about his brothers and Main Wave than he does about you, Marie," Callen finished. "If you help us get information from him, you can help us shut this whole thing down." Here, Callen's voice turned more pleading, more emotional; Gibbs inwardly marveled at his ability to change his persona.

"Main Wave is also responsible for hurting one of my closest friends," Callen said. "She lost both her parents to Ernest St. James, and I don't want to see her hurt more. You're not a bad person – I'm sure you don't want that either. Please, Marie."

Marie squeezed her eyes shut. She breathed in deeply, then breathed out. She chewed on her lip. She clenched and unclenched her fingers while her internal battle waged. Finally, she opened her eyes.

"Okay," she agreed shakily.

Gibbs silently passed her a phone with a number already dialed. Marie picked it up gingerly with trembling hands.

"Thank you," Callen said. "Just remember to act scared. We'll take care of the rest."

With a final moment of hesitation, Marie Wilcox tapped the accept button and held the phone to her ear.

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN:...Huh. I actually have nothing to say, except - I'll see you all tomorrow!_**


	9. Chapter Eight

_**A/N: Today we catch up with the other Wilcox in the boathouse - Linnaeus. This is the final chapter before things start heating up and building to the climax, so I suggest you prepare yourselves ;)**_

___**Thanks to **leathman, idiot9and602, TwilightPony21,** and **DizzyDrea** for reviewing and to **idiot9and602** and **TVismydrug** for putting this story on favorites.**_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eight<strong>

_11:32, November 5; OSP Boathouse, Los Angeles_

Linnaeus Wilcox, Flack observed, was just as self-assured as he was the last time he'd been interrogated – perhaps more so this time. As such, he had clammed up immediately upon being shown into the boathouse and absolutely refused to say anything.

Flack was hoping, however, that this phone call would change his mind.

Linnaeus narrowed his eyes at the ringing phone Flack pushed towards him.

"I think that's for you," Flack said, nodding at the phone.

Suspiciously, Linnaeus picked up the phone. "Hello?"

_"Linnaeus?"_

Linnaeus gaped. "Marie?"

_"Linnaeus, please tell them to leave me alone." _His wife sounded alone and scared; inwardly, Linnaeus seethed. _"They keep asking me these questions – I told them all we did was transport stuff. They won't leave me alone."_

It took a second or two for Linnaeus to compose himself enough to speak. "Marie, I promise you everything's going to be all right, okay?"

_"I'm scared, Linnaeus."_

"I know," he soothed. "I know. Don't worry – I'll fix it, okay? Everything will be fine, all right?"

_"Okay."_

"Hang in there, Marie." Linnaeus put the phone down. Tony, who was interrogating him with Flack, frowned sympathetically.

"Sounds like the little miss is pretty scared," he remarked.

"And guess whose fault that is?" Flack added.

Linnaeus glared accusingly at them. "Leave my wife alone."

"You should have thought of that before you brought her into this business." Flack leaned his elbows on the table. "Look, Linnaeus, the way things stand, you can be charged with jewel smuggling, knowingly transporting stolen goods, assisting a fugitive, and accessory to murder. That's enough to get both you and Marie several years, at least."

Linnaeus remained silent. Tony picked up his cue.

"Family loyalty is an admirable thing, really – but is it really worth getting your wife in prison?"

"Don't," Linnaeus said.

"She's still young, Linnaeus – but a few years of prison will break her, and you know it. She's a pretty lady, but she's not very strong, is she?"

"I said don't!"

"You're her husband. You're supposed to protect her. But you're not doing that now, are you? No…you're protecting yourself."

"Stop!" Linnaeus banged his fists on the table, his body shaking. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Then enlighten us," said Flack. "What could have been worth putting your wife in danger like this?"

"You don't understand," Linnaeus said. "I have Huntington's, Detective. I'm going to die soon. But I love Marie. I just want her to be taken care of when I'm gone."

"But why involve her in the smuggling?" Flack asked. "Why expose her to do that?"

Linnaeus scowled in disgust. "Because I can't manage it on my own," he almost mumbled. "Because of this wretched disease of mine, I needed Marie's help to transport the jewels."

"Wow," Tony observed. "That's rough." Linnaeus glowered at him.

"Look, Linnaeus, there's still a way for you to turn this around," Flack offered. "You and Marie weren't as involved in Main Wave as your brothers. And because of your disease, I bet we could get the DA to pass a light sentence. Probation, community service, parole…neither of you have to go to jail. _If _you tell us what we need to know."

There was a momentary silence in the room; Linnaeus seemed to be mulling it over.

"If I do this," he said, "you have to promise me something."

"And what's that?" Tony asked.

"Marie doesn't get punished." Linnaeus looked at him seriously. "I'm not concerned about myself – my time is limited anyway. But Marie – she's got her whole life ahead of her. Don't let her pay for my mistake."

"We'll do our best," Flack promised. "She'll still get a sentence of some sort, but it will be light."

Linnaeus nodded, satisfied. Then he began.

"I was twenty-two when Kendall first told me about Main Wave. He said that as his brother, I was considered a high-ranking operative within the organization, even though I knew nothing about it. He also told me Vincent was already part of it. At twenty-four, after failing to get a decent-paying job because of my Huntington's, I agreed to join. I spent three years as part of a transport crew moving jewels across the country.

"Then I met Marie. I fell in love and quit Main Wave to court her. We were married within a year. She helped me get a real job, and we lived comfortably for maybe three or four years, but then the recession hit, and…" He sighed. "Marie and I were affected badly. I wasn't laid off, but my pay was cut in half. I went back to Kendall and asked whether I could get back in, and he organized a new arrangement. I told Marie about the deal, and she was scared at first – but she came around. This delivery would have been our fourth."

"What can you tell us about your brothers?" Tony inquired.

Linnaeus seemed to consider. "Kendall's in charge of the base in New York, but he travels a lot to help Ernest St. James with business. One of his main duties is supplying the jewelry branches of some corporate company in D.C."

"EEL Incorporated." Tony nodded.

"Yeah, that's the one. Kendall's duties take him away from New York most of the time, so when he's not around, Vincent takes over for him."

Flack frowned a little. "How big is the New York base?" he wanted to know.

"It's not exactly a base," Linnaeus amended. "Main Wave doesn't run business from there. It's more like…an outlying branch that connects to the nearest base – a stop on the way. There is no single headquarters there like in D.C. or Los Angeles. Only a few Main Wave operatives work from there on a regular basis."

"And who exactly are these 'operatives'?"

"You've caught every one," Linnaeus informed him. "The only people involved in Main Wave who maintain a permanent residence in New York are Marie and I, Kendall, Vincent, and Janice Bright."

"What were you supposed to do on this trip?" Tony asked. Linnaeus shrugged.

"The usual. Move some jewelry, gems, and a couple of boxes of equipment. But this trip was different because we were delivering to the L.A. base – which is the headquarters of the entire organization. Marie was especially nervous about meeting Ernest St. James."

At this, Tony's ears perked up. "Marie's never met Ernest St. James?"

"No. I did, a couple of times back when I first started, but St. James has never seen Marie. Kendall was always the one in charge of our activities. He was the one we reported to."

Flack nodded. "Thank you," he said as he stood up. "You've been very helpful."

"Very, _very _helpful," Tony added.

The next minute, they both left the room.

* * *

><p>Outside, Sam and Deeks had been watching both interrogations. Now they glanced up from the screen as Tony, Flack, Callen, and Gibbs all came out to confer together.<p>

"What d'you think?" Sam asked Callen.

"I think Marie's the most innocent of the lot," Callen replied. "But as we just saw, she's a pretty good actress, so you never know."

"She wasn't faking when she talked to us," Gibbs disagreed. "Her fear was real."

"Linnaeus was telling the truth, too," Tony added.

"So where does that leave us?" Deeks asked.

"Well, we've caught the Wilcoxes. Kendall, Vincent, Linnaeus, Marie – the whole bunch of them." Tony ticked them off on his fingers. "Janice Bright, too. She and Vincent are awaiting trial in New York, Kendall's been placed under house arrest in D.C., and Marie and Linnaeus are here. That means the New York outpost is completely neutralized."

"Which leaves us with Ernest St. James, a.k.a. Adam Miller," Sam said. "His daughter Ebony is back at their house, but he isn't. He's at that so-called clinic downtown, getting ready for the big heist."

"So we've got three days to come up with, plan, and perfectly execute an idea to catch Ernest St. James – a man who began Main Wave and killed at least three people," Tony finished.

"Anna Winston, Donald Blye, and Daniel Wells," put in Callen.

"We could take advantage of the fact that St. James has never seen Marie Wilcox," Sam suggested. His eyes met Callen's, speaking silently but significantly to his partner.

Callen sighed. "I'm not sure that's a good idea, Sam."

"She can handle it," Sam pointed out.

"I know she can, but it's risky. What if he notices the resemblance?"

"Hang on," interjected Deeks, while Flack and Gibbs looked on in bewilderment (on Flack's part) and interest (Gibbs). "You're not actually thinking of sending _Kensi _undercover, are you?"

"She's the best we've got," said Sam. "And she does fit Marie Wilcox's description, to an extent."

"It's risky," Callen reiterated.

"I'm with Callen," Deeks agreed. "Kensi's too personally involved in this case, and you want to send her straight into the lion's den, to Ernest St. James himself? You're out of your mind."

"Well, we have to do _something_," Sam insisted. "We've only got three days. We need something that can get us a grip on St. James so solid he can never wriggle his way out again."

"Why don't you ask Agent Blye what she thinks of all this?" Gibbs suggested. "Let her make the choice for herself."

Callen sighed. "I already know what she's going to say."

"G, she'll be fine," Sam assured him. "We'll have her back. And it's not like there's anyone left who can identify Marie Wilcox. No one can blow her cover."

Callen thought about it. "Fine," he relented. "But this plan, whatever it is, has to be solid. We have to go through every part, plan every detail. We need to have _all _our bases covered."

"Then let's get to work," Gibbs suggested.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: I've just realized there are three Donalds involved in this story: Flack, Ducky, and Kensi's father. Seems to be a pretty common name, doesn't it?**_


	10. Chapter Nine

**_A/N: Thanks to _**_leathman, TwilightPony21, and Angela6527_**_ for reviewing. Thanks to _**_kenmac_**_ for reviewing via PM, and thanks to _**_afrozenheart412_**_ for both reviewing and adding this story to favorites._**

**_Here comes the heat!_**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Nine<strong>

_09:12, November 8; Financial District, Los Angeles_

Eric typed, bringing up camera footage, maps, satellite images, heat readings, and anything else he could think of onto the big plasma screen, even as his genius of a brain mentally recapped the plan.

Operation Main Wave, as Hetty termed it, had been planned out, reviewed, edited, re-planned, refined, and reviewed again at least five times over the past two and a half days until it was as perfect as they could get it. No one was taking any chances with this op. Ernest St. James had escaped too many times, with too few consequences, much too well. Main Wave itself was no joke either. This op would only affect the Los Angeles branch of the organization, but they were hoping that, since it would (hopefully) take out both the ring's leader and headquarters, it would bring the whole company crashing down anyway.

Kensi was without a doubt the spearhead of the mission. She would go in as Marie Wilcox with a fictitious excuse as to why Linnaeus was not with her. Eric had already backstopped her alias, complete with a marriage certificate to Linnaeus Wilcox and a wedding ring on her finger. On the street outside, a car was parked directly in front of the clinic, and it was occupied by Callen, Deeks, and Flack. Another car, this one holding Gibbs, Tony, and Ziva, was stationed in the alley behind the clinic; and Stella and McGee were in a third vehicle diagonally opposite, a little farther down the road. The two buildings adjacent to the clinic held two full teams of a mix of SWAT and Special Forces, each led by either Sam or Hetty (yes, Henrietta Lange was joining the action). And watching over the whole thing from Ops were Eric, Nell, and Abby. Ducky had wished them luck, but he was not involved in any way with the mission. (He instead was checking up on something in another part of the city.)

"Testing comms,"Eric's voice said over the frequency. "All stations, report."

_ "Alpha team present and accounted for," _Callen's voice announced

_"Bravo team ready," _Gibbs replied.

_"Charlie on standby," _Stella added.

_"Delta team, all set," _Sam put in.

_"Team Echo, locked and loaded," _finished Hetty. Eric had to take a moment to regain his bearings; he was so unused to hearing Hetty out in the field.

"Kensi, you ready?" he queried.

_"Kensi? Who's Kensi? I'm Marie Wilcox."_

Eric chuckled. "All right, Callen, we're good to go."

_"Copy that, Eric. Kenz, we're ready whenever you are."_

_ "Showtime," _Kensi's voice said. She got out of the car she was in and strolled up the street to the clinic, looking as if she belonged there.

_"Be careful, Kensi." _Callen's voice was full of subtle concern.

_"When am I not?" _And she rang the bell.

* * *

><p><em>10:42<em>

Abby nervously chewed on her black-polished fingernails as she watched footage from Kensi's button camera. "She should have called them in by now, shouldn't she?"

Kensi's objective in the mission was simple: deliver the goods and prove Ernest St. James guilty of smuggling. But that was the easy part.

No one wanted St. James to be charged merely on smuggling and then walk for all the homicides he had committed, least of all Kensi. However, as it was a bit impossible to prove his guilt for the murders of Anna Winston and Donald Blye, she was aiming to at least link him conclusively to the Wells murder. From there they could try to connect him to the previous homicides.

Unfortunately, for the past hour and a half, the agents and detectives keeping guard outside the clinic had been deaf to what was happening inside. While Kensi had been provided with a mini microphone as well as an earpiece, there was something in the clinic that was generating some white noise which effectively muffled the transmission. The best Eric had been able to get was the occasional word or two.

This, of course, left everyone on edge, waiting for Kensi's signal to come in.

"Maybe the timing isn't right," Nell offered, though she too looked anxious.

Eric thoughtfully reached over and removed Abby's fingers from her mouth before she could do irreparable damage to her nail polish that she would complain about later. Abby switched to chewing on her lip.

"Remember that bad feeling I told you about the other day?" the forensics specialist said presently.

"Yeah…" Nell said slowly.

"What about it?" Eric asked.

"I'm getting it again."

* * *

><p>Kensi reminded herself to keep her cool as she smiled and nodded to the man in front of her. Normally, she wouldn't have any trouble playing a character like Marie Wilcox – any undercover with a whit of talent could pretend to be a nervous, uncertain delivery person. But very few could continue to stay in that character while talking to the man who had cost them their father, and possibly their mother as well.<p>

Fortunately, Kensi was one of those people. Not only could she stay in character, but she could also note everything about one Ernest St. James.

St. James was a man of medium height and build. He had dark hair and dark eyes. His manner was smooth and urban, polite, even. He was clearly very intelligent and smart, with an air of leadership that just oozed confidence and security. St. James had been running Main Wave for over twenty years, and had committed God-knows-how-many crimes during that time, and he was good at it.

But NCIS: OSP always got their guy in the end, and it would be no different with St. James. They had already proven him guilty of smuggling jewels (which, really, was easy as pie), but if they brought him in solely on that, they'd lose him for the murders – and that was unacceptable. Kensi was just trying to veer the conversation in the direction she wanted it to go – and thus link St. James to Wells' murder – but it wasn't easy to do in her Marie Wilcox persona.

"I'm glad that you managed to get the objects safely here, Marie," St. James was saying as his lackeys lugged the boxes away, "what with the recent upheaval in New York. I'm impressed you managed to throw the police off your trail – didn't you say they interrogated you about that Navy officer – what was her name?"

"Leah Jasper," Kensi reminded him. The analytical part of her brain noted that there were sound vibrations filling the room – probably from a gem tumbling machine in another part of the building. _Crap. _That meant her team wouldn't be able to hear what was going on.

"Ah, yes, Jasper. The detectives questioned you and your husband about that, didn't they?" As he spoke, he led Kensi away from the main hall of the 'clinic' to a sitting area nearby.

Kensi nodded, remembering to look slightly nervous. "They did, but they believed that we were innocent of it."

"But then they placed you under protective custody," St. James went on.

"Yes, they did," Kensi affirmed, wondering just how St. James was so knowledgeable about the investigation.

"How did you escape that?"

"After Vincent was arrested, they believed the threat against us was…well…gone. So we asked if we could take our annual anniversary trip out of town."

"And they agreed." St. James chuckled. "Lucky for us, eh?" He settled down comfortably on a chair. "But what I'm most curious about is why you're here, and Linnaeus isn't."

Kensi thought fast. "He was, um, apprehended by NCIS agents shortly after we landed in L.A. They're keeping him in custody, so I had to…come alone."

"I see." St. James looked thoughtful. "You were careful, of course? No one followed you here, did they?" His eyes glinted with something undefinable. Kensi pretended to gulp.

"Of-of course, Mr. St. James," she hastened to assure him. "Linnaeus taught me how to spot a tail."

St. James nodded. "Good. I shall arrange for Linnaeus to be 'escorted' out of NCIS custody. Then, after the job tomorrow, we shall all disappear. The police will never find us."

Kensi nodded, then hesitated. St. James noticed.

"What is it, Marie?"

"It's just…" Kensi bit her lip.

"You can tell me," St. James told her. "You're among friends, my dear."

_Friends? _thought Kensi ironically. _Hardly. _"I…I heard about that murder up in D.C. – Major Daniel Wells. And, well…I couldn't help wondering if…"

"If?" St. James prodded.

"If Kendall killed him." Kensi cast her gaze downwards, playing up Marie Wilcox's anxiety to perfection.

"Oh, you're worried about your brother-in-law." St. James waved a hand dismissively. "No need to be concerned – I took care of that myself. Kendall had nothing to do with it – in fact, he is, I believe, sitting cozily in an NCIS safe house D.C. He played it smart – he had the good sense to give the agents my name, like I told him to, and in exchange, they placed him under house arrest instead of sending him to prison. I'll get to him as soon as I can. Now, Marie, if you don't mind, I really must see to the preparations for tomorrow."

"Not at all," Kensi said hastily, rising from her chair at the same time as St. James. Inwardly, she was jubilant – Ernest St. James had just admitted to murdering Daniel Wells. The had him on the ropes…now to signal her team…

"Thank you for the delivery, my dear," St. James said again.

"I wouldn't thank her just yet, Ernest," a male voice intruded. Both Kensi and St. James turned to see a man and a woman enter. The woman pointed a finger accusingly at Kensi, a sneer on her face.

"That's _not _Marie Wilcox."

* * *

><p>The ringing of a cell phone broke the tense silence in the car and startled both Stella and McGee. Stella, realizing it was her phone, flipped it open.<p>

"Bonasera."

_"Stella, where are you?" _Mac's anxious voice inquired. Stella frowned.

"I'm in L.A.'s financial district," she replied. "We're staking out Ernest St. James' headquarters. NCIS: OSP has one operative undercover inside as we speak."

_"As whom?" _There was an urgency in his tone that she couldn't understand – but it made her very, very nervous.

"Marie Wilcox," Stella answered. "St. James never met her."

There wasn't even a second of a pause. _"Get her out of there _now_, Stella!"_

"Mac, what –"

_"Vincent Wilcox and Janice Bright escaped police custody last night. Adam managed to track them to L.A. They both know who Marie Wilcox is – they'll blow your agent's cover!"_

Stella wasted no time in conveying the news over the frequency. A second later, she heard Callen give the order for Kensi to pull out.

An instant after that, there were gunshots to be heard.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: Aren't I evil? XD**_ _**Next chapter coming tomorrow!**_


	11. Chapter Ten

**_A/N: I'm sorry to say that we are approaching the end of the trilogy. After today, there are only two more chapters before we say goodbye to the Cross Country Case. Still, why worry about tomorrow, eh, when we still have to find out what happens with Kensi?  
><em>**

**_Many thanks to _**_DizzyDrea, leathman, Rebel Magnus_**_ and _**_DS2010_**_. Quintuple thanks to _**_afrozenheart412_**_ who left five reviews on five chapters ;) Thanks also to _**_Nicole1314_**_ for adding this story to both favorites and alerts._**

**_Now, let's get back to South Spring Street and see what's going to happen to our favorite detectives and agents._**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Ten<strong>

_11:07, November 8; Financial District, Los Angeles_

South Spring Street was a pandemonium of panic. Immediately after the first gunshot was fired, screams could be heard from as far as five blocks up the street. Pedestrians scrambled to get out of the way as SWAT and Special Forces alike descended like a swarm of bees on the little clinic along the middle of the road. Add to that more gunshots, yelling, and the unmistakable sounds of a massive firefight, and you had a scene no sane civilian would want to be a part of. Thus, the street was almost empty by the time the NCIS agents had pushed their way into the clinic.

More shots followed. Sam dutifully led his SWAT team to enclose the perimeter, while Hetty, looking for all the world like a tiny lioness, calmly took out one Main Wave operative after another with scary methodicalness and lethal efficiency. For the charge in, Callen and Deeks took point, with Flack, Stella, and McGee following a few steps behind. Gibbs, Tony, and Ziva were coming in from the back.

"Eric, what's happening?" Callen asked.

_"I…I'm not sure…I can't see properly…"_

Deeks stopped midway through rushing in and stared at the series of doors lining the long corridor. "I'm positive it wasn't this big from the outside," he mused.

"Which way to the room Kensi's in?" Callen inquired.

_"Third door on the left," _Abby supplied. _"Hurry, Callen."_

They did. As Hetty's Special Forces team broke away in smaller groups to investigate the other rooms, Callen, Deeks, Flack, Stella, and McGee all made their way to the aforementioned door, which Flack then kicked in. Then they all rushed in, spewing ABC soup.

"NCIS!"

"LAPD!"

"NYPD!"

Normally, they wouldn't have bothered with the mix of letters in a situation like this; but they wanted – _needed_ – to do this by the book and stick as closely to regulations as possible. They couldn't afford to let St. James get away because of an idiotic bureaucratic technicality.

Kensi was pointing her gun at St. James, even though Vincent Wilcox and Janice Bright each had weapons of their own trained on her. St. James, for his part, had his hands tucked behind his back instead of up in the air in a gesture of surrender, and his face was far too calm for his predicament.

"Drop your weapons!" Callen ordered.

"Well, well, well," Janice jeered. "If it isn't Stella Bonasera. Long way from home, aren't you?"

"I could say the same for you," Stella retorted, holding her Glock steady. "Put the gun down, Janice."

"You too, Vincent," Deeks added.

The two smugglers seemed to consider defying the command, so McGee added, "Don't be stupid. You're outnumbered and outgunned. You try to fight your way out and you'll be riddled with bullets before you can take two steps out the door. Now put your guns down and put your hands in the air, and no one has to get hurt."

Uncle and niece exchanged glances, then slowly placed their revolvers on the floor, glowering at the agents and detectives the whole time. McGee and Flack moved in to cuff them. Callen, satisfied that Vincent and Janice were no longer a threat, turned his attention to Kensi, who still had her gun pointed at St. James.

"Kenz," he said quietly. "We got him. It's over."

"No, it isn't," St. James said evenly.

"You shut the hell up," Flack told him, turning his gun on him. "Put your hands behind your head."

St. James wasn't fazed, nor did he move his arms. "It isn't over, Kensi, and you know it."

Her eyes narrowed, and he chuckled, seemingly oblivious to the many weapons aimed at his body.

"What?" he asked. "You didn't really think I was taken in by your Marie Wilcox act, did you? I've never met Marie, but I didn't have to – my spies are everywhere; I knew what was happening with the case the whole time. I've known for some time now that NYPD became involved in a predominantly NCIS case, even to the extent of traveling out of their jurisdiction to help – a fact that was only proved when one of my people managed to secure a detective's suitcase for me." He looked suggestively at Flack, who looked outraged.

"_You _were behind my missing luggage?" the New York cop demanded angrily. "You would stop that low? You're one son of a –"

"Who's the real animal here, Detective Flack?" St. James questioned casually. "I am obviously the one with the brains around here – you've merely been following me around, as a dog would his master. You never would have been able to find me if I hadn't let you. And really, I wouldn't have – but how could I resist meeting the daughter of Colonel Donald Blye?"

Kensi stiffened; Stella demanded, "Hands in the air, now!"

"Your father was a very persistent man, you know," St. James remarked conversationally. A sly smirk crossed his features. "And your mother is a very beautiful woman. Much like you are."

Kensi's gun was shaking in her hands. "My mother…"

"Oh, yes, didn't your father ever tell you? She's alive. She gave me a lovely daughter, too." He looked at her pityingly. "You really have no idea what happened, do you?"

"Kensi, he's baiting you," Callen warned. "Don't fall for it."

"Don't you want to know the truth, Kensi?" St. James asked persuasively. "Don't you want to know why your mother left your father – left you – for me? Don't you want to know why your father died at my hand?"

Despite Callen's warnings, Kensi's gun lowered an inch. St. James smiled.

"My father didn't know what happened to my mother," Kensi stated.

"Oh, but he did," St. James disagreed lightly. "He just never told you, being the good daddy he was. Your mother had an affair with me, Kensi."

Kensi blinked at the shocking news. Then she shook her head. "No…"

"Your father found out about it and decided he wanted to teach me a lesson. Unfortunately for him, I'm a master of hiding. But he just couldn't leave it alone." St. James sighed. "I was content to forget all about it and run my business, but when my name came up in the Anna Winston murder…"

"And why did it come up?" Kensi challenged, raising her gun again. "Because you killed her!"

St. James shrugged nonchalantly. "She was in the way. Sometimes sacrifices have to be made for progress to be achieved."

"Is that how you reason away all your crimes?" Kensi demanded. "My father was trying to bring you to justice – he was doing the right thing."

"Your father was trying to administer his _own_ brand of justice," St. James countered, his voice rising ever so slightly. "He couldn't let go of the fact that your mother chose me. When he linked me to Anna's murder, he seized it as a chance to find me so he could pay me back for that. I had no choice but to kill him – he would have plagued me for the rest of my life."

Kensi's grip on her gun tightened, her finger itching towards the trigger as her rage threatened to boil over.

"Kensi, don't do it!" Callen exclaimed.

St. James, however, merely smirked, his eyes glittering dangerously. "Yes, do listen to your extremely wise colleague, Kensi. After all, he's only trying to prevent you from ruining your career."

"You can shut up now!" Deeks ordered.

"I mean, killing the man who destroyed your family isn't worth throwing your future away for, is it?" St. James continued. "Avenging your father isn't nearly as important as a career, after all – and even less so, punishing the man who stole your mother away from you. No – all that is not worth pulling the trigger. Certainly not."

Kensi's eyes hardened, becoming impenetrable wood instead of warm chocolate. Her finger moved…

"Kensi, no!" Callen yelled.

People say time slows down when something momentous occurs. A second seems like an hour, a minute like a day…thus giving them that much more time to comprehend what happens. While that may have been true for Kensi, for Callen and the others, time didn't slow down – it sped up. Suddenly there was not a moment even nearly long enough to stop the impending – and seemingly inevitable – disaster.

Callen lowered his gun and leaped the few feet to Kensi's side even though he knew he would not get there in time to prevent her from making the biggest mistake of her life. Shouts of warning from the others filled the air as they, too, tried to make their way to Kensi. Unnoticed by any of them, Vincent and Janice started inching their way out of the room, to freedom, while they were all occupied with Kensi.

And Ernest St. James simply stood there, a small smile on his face, confident of the fact that with his death at the hands of a federal agent, the case against Main Wave would be compromised, and the company would survive. He was not suicidal – he would prefer to live, of course – but Main Wave was bigger than he, and he had successors ready to assume the mantle of leadership; if he had to die to ensure the continuance of the organization, then so be it. He closed his eyes and prepared for death.

It was an instant – that is to say, it seemed like an instant, even though it was actually more than a few seconds – an instant crammed chock full with running, yelling, pounding, heartbeats…an instant before…

_THWACK!_

It took a long moment for everybody to realize that Gibbs, having entered from a secondary door no one had noticed before, had whacked St. James in the back of the head with the butt of his gun (and that Tony and Ziva had prevented Vincent and Janice from making good on their escape). The Main Wave leader stumbled to the ground, out cold, while everyone stared disbelievingly.

As for Gibbs…the former Marine simply glanced around, stowed his gun, strolled up to Callen, and slapped him upside the head.

"Why didn't you just do that earlier?"

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: Hahaha! The Gibbs head-slap. I had to put it in somewhere, didn't I? **_

_**Catch you all tomorrow!**_


	12. Chapter Eleven

**_A/N: Wow, thanks for all the reviews, guys!_**_ DizzyDrea, CallenHotchMcGarrettFan, leathman, lily moonlight, TwilightPony21, DS2010,_**_ and _**_afrozenheart412_**_ - thanks to all you awesome people for reviewing! It's just too bad that this is the second last chapter, isn't it?_**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eleven<strong>

_18:02, November 8; NCIS: OSP, Los Angeles  
><em>

Kensi watched from a distance as Callen led Ebony Miller to the interrogation room where they were holding her father. They needed someone reliable to positively identify Ernest St. James as Adam Miller, and Ebony was the ideal person to do that.

It only took one look at the video feed.

"That's him," Ebony confirmed, her voice heavy. She sighed and closed her eyes.

"I'm sorry about this, Ebony," Callen said sincerely. She nodded unconvincingly.

"I…I want to go home now," she said. "If that's okay," she added reluctantly, looking at Callen.

"Of course," he agreed. "I'll take you." The two of them started to move out.

"Wait," Kensi called quietly, coming out from the shadows of the corner. Ebony jumped.

"Where did you come from?" she demanded.

"Kenz, are you sure you want to –" Callen began.

"Yes," Kensi interrupted. Callen gazed at her carefully for a minute before nodding and exiting the room, leaving Kensi and Ebony alone.

Ebony was the first to break the awkward silence. "So…you must be the woman Agent Callen was telling me about. He says we…have the same mother?" She looked self-consciously at Kensi.

The junior agent nodded. "Yeah," she said. "We do." Her eyes turned sad as she regarded her half-sister.

"You know, for what it's worth, I didn't know her either," Ebony offered. "She died when I was really young…I think I was like, five…"

"I was five, too," Kensi said quietly. "When she disappeared."

Ebony sighed. "Look, I'm really sorry that my dad…you know…" She shook her head. "You didn't deserve it, and neither did your dad. But…it's hard to hate him, you know?" She glanced forlornly at the video feed. "I've just found out that my father is probably one of the biggest bastards alive…and yet, I can't hate him. I hate what he did, but I still love _him_." She sighed again. "Does that make sense? I'm sorry if it doesn't – I'm not thinking very clearly right now…"

"No, it's fine," Kensi assured her. "I understand what you mean." She too cast a look at the video footage of Ernest St. James sulking in the interrogation room. She exhaled. "Look," she started, "whatever happened between our fathers, it doesn't have to affect us. After all that's said and done, we're still family…of a sort." She hesitated. "I guess what I'm trying to say is…let's let bygones be bygones, and just start over. You think we can do that?"

Ebony looked thoughtful. "Yeah," she agreed, smiling slightly. "I think I'd like that." Her gaze shifted to the door. "So…is this the part where we exchange phone numbers and agree to visit or something?"

Kensi chuckled; the sound was light and easy, brightening the uncomfortable tension. "Not quite." She sobered, contemplating. "I'll need some time. Everything just happened so fast…I need to sort this through for a while." She looked back at her half-sister. "But I'll come find you when I'm ready. I'd really like to get to know you better."

Ebony smiled. "Me too," she concurred. "I'll be waiting…when you're ready." Then she walked out the door.

* * *

><p>Hetty sipped her tea daintily, barely glancing up when Ducky entered her office space.<p>

"Well?" she queried.

"The lead was solid," the ME replied. "Julia Blye is living as one Abigail Bloomwood in Venice."

Hetty nodded, her countenance thoughtful. "Did you tell her?"

"About Ebony? Yes," Ducky admitted. "About Kensi, no."

Hetty nodded again as she drained the last of her tea. "I think it's time mother and daughter were reunited, don't you?" She smiled brightly at Ducky.

Ducky bobbed his head with a smile that matched hers. "Absolutely."

* * *

><p>Kensi slowly made her way to the modest apartment on the fourth floor that Hetty had directed her to. Her heart was pounding in her ribs and her hands were shaking – literally shaking – as she knocked on the door. It was opened within a few seconds; a cautious face peeked out.<p>

"Can I help you?" Abigail Bloomwood inquired, keeping the door as a barrier between herself and the unknown woman.

Kensi couldn't stop herself from staring; a flood of conflicting emotions, greater than she had ever experienced before, swelled in her chest. Joy, sadness, hope, despair, disbelief, anger, relief, thankfulness…

The last time she'd seen her mother, she'd been a little girl, full of happiness and belief that Mommy and Daddy were all-powerful, that they could fix everything. Now, as a grown adult, a seasoned agent who had seen more of the dark side of the world than most did, she saw a woman almost as scared as Marie Wilcox must have been. There was, however, a firm set to her jaw and a certain fire within her eyes that bespoke hidden strength of character.

Abigail frowned, tightening her hold on the door, ready to slam it shut. "I'm sorry – I don't think we've met."

Kensi was surprised to feel unbidden tears springing to her eyes. "Mom?" she whispered.

Abigail gaped at her, shock written all over her face. Her grip on the door unconsciously loosened as she struggled to find her voice.

"Kensi?" she breathed incredulously.

Mother and daughter stared at each other for a long moment, neither saying a word.

Then, as if someone had abruptly knocked all barriers flat and eradicated all walls, the two women fell into each other's arms, smiling through their tears.

* * *

><p>It was near midnight by the time Kensi finally left Venice to go home – though not without a promise to return soon. As she drove down the familiar roads, she felt more content than she had in years – at long last, she knew the truth, the real truth, about what happened to her family.<p>

After she'd caught his fancy one dark night in 1986, Ernest St. James had stalked Julia Blye, chased her to an alley, and raped her. Julia, a strong woman, had returned to her husband and daughter, saying nothing about her ordeal – Donald was going through a rough time in his career, and little Kensi did not need her image of a safe home shattered. Julia was determined to forget all about it and move on as if it never happened.

That plan was destroyed one month later, when Julia discovered she was pregnant with the rapist's child. However, as resolute as ever, she told Donald about her pregnancy and let him believe the baby was his. She could still make this work, she thought.

Only somehow, St. James discovered she was pregnant and tracked her back to her home. He demanded that he be allowed to claim the child, and when Julia refused, he abducted her, leaving her family to wonder where she had gone.

St. James kept Julia a prisoner in his home until she gave birth to his daughter, Ebony. Then he'd threatened to kill Kensi if Julia refused to stay to be a mother to Ebony.

Julia, however, scrounged up all the information she could on her husband and daughter. When she heard that they had moved to the Navy Yard in D.C., sometime in 1993, she made her escape, leaving a five-year-old Ebony behind with her father. St. James, ruthless smuggler though he was, nonetheless loved his little girl and would never hurt her, and Julia didn't want to expose her to a world of fear. She left the house one night and disappeared, changing her name and hiding in plain sight.

But now, with the resolution of the Main Wave case and Donald Blye's murder, and the arrest of Ernest St. James, Kensi had hope that she and her mother and Ebony could make a new beginning. First thing tomorrow, she was going to call on her half-sister and tell her that her mother – _their _mother – was alive and well, and longing to see her.

When Kensi reached her driveway, she was surprised to find Callen's car parked by the side, and Callen himself leaning against it.

"What are you doing here?" Kensi asked as soon as she got out of her car.

"Waiting for you," Callen responded, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Why?"

"I wanted to see if you were all right." Callen peered at her. "And don't lie to me, Kensi – I'll know if you do."

Kensi chewed on her lip thoughtfully for a few seconds before breaking out into a smile.

"You know what?" she said. "I'm fine. And more than fine…I've finally found all that I've been looking for."

Callen smiled, a little wistfully. "I'm glad for you, Kenz."

Kensi sighed as she sidled closer to him, propping her back against his car like he was. "You'll find your answers one day too, Callen."

"One can hope."

"No, not hope," she disagreed. "Callen, someday, I promise you, you _will _find what you're looking for. You'll know the truth. And I'll be right there with you, like you were with me."

Callen's face turned rueful. "Thanks, Kenz – but you can't predict the future."

"You've never heard of positive visualization? You know what your problem is, Callen?"

"I have a problem?" Callen raised an eyebrow.

"Yep. A big one. And you deserved every bit of that head-slap Gibbs gave you."

Callen cringed. "Please, don't remind me," he sighed. "I haven't been head-slapped by Gibbs in ten years. That was embarassing."

Kensi laughed. "Does he do that often?"

"Oh, yeah," said Callen. "All the time. But getting back on topic..." he redirected, "What, exactly, is my problem?"

"You're way too pessimistic. Would it kill you to look on the bright side for once?"

"That's Sam's job. I'm the glass-is-half-empty guy, remember?"

"And I'm the girl who drinks straight from the bottle." Kensi crossed her arms.

"Who told you that?" Callen wanted to know.

"I may or may not have overheard Sam referring to it once."

He chuckled. "I should have known," he muttered. "So you're good?" he asked, more seriously.

Kensi nodded. "I'm good."

"Good," he said. "Because Abby's demanded everyone's presence at a bar on Sunset tomorrow night."

Kensi cringed. "Not the Cowboy bar," she pleaded.

"No, no," he hastened to assure her. "Sam told her about Hetty and the mechanical bull. We're going to the one across the street."

"Why?"

Callen shrugged helplessly. "I have no idea," he admitted. "But you know Abby – if we don't show, she'll drag us there."

"I think I'll pass. On the being dragged part."

Callen nodded knowingly. "So, I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Kensi affirmed. "Goodnight, Callen."

"Night, Kenz." He opened his car door and stepped in.

"And…" Kensi hesitated; Callen waited, one foot still out of the car. "Thanks for stopping by."

Callen smiled fondly at her. "You're welcome."

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: Ah...a Callen/Kensi moment. I really do love those two together.**_

___**Only one more chapter to go, folks! Tune in tomorrow for the final chapter of the **Cross-Country Case Trilogy**!**_


	13. Chapter Twelve

**_A/N: And here we are with the final chapter of the entire trilogy. I'm sorry it's a bit late - I was busy looking up...well, never mind what I was looking up. As for today's chapter, Abby's got something very special planned...let's just say that by the end, you'll all know my favorite ships in these three shows ;) My apologies to those who don't ship the couples I do, but we're all entitled to our own opinion._**

**_Thanks to DizzyDrea, leathman, Sara, SunnyCitrus10, TwilightPony21, and afrozenheart412 for reviewing! And thanks in advance to everyone who will review on this chapter or this story from now on._**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twelve<br>**

_09:00, November 9; Ops, NCIS: OSP, Los Angeles_

Abby Sciuto hummed gaily to herself as she went around Ops, helping Eric and Nell set things up for the day. The OSP technicians smiled as they observed their mother branch counterpart bouncing about.

"Got some good news, Abby?" Nell guessed.

"Very good," the bubbly Goth agreed happily.

"Sharing is caring," Eric teased. Abby merely grinned and shook her head.

"Nope. Not telling. You'll find out soon enough, anyway."

"Now you've got me curious." Eric walked closer to her. "Come on, Abby, what is it?" He grinned as inspiration struck his brain. "I'll buy you a Caf-Pow," he offered.

Abby giggled. "That's not going to work, Eric. Gibbs and McGee supply me with all the Caf-Pow I want."

Eric's face fell as he tried to think of another alternative. "A new keyboard?" he suggested, not very hopefully.

"Nope."

"Hard drive?"

"No."

"My very own photo software?" He added, "You can create virtually anything out of bits of photos with that."

"Tempting…but no."

"Ignore him," Nell said, rolling her eyes at Eric. She leaned in close and whispered conspiratorially, "You can tell me. What's the big secret?"

Abby pulled away. "No, no, and _no_," she said gleefully, skipping out of their reach. "Wild horses couldn't drag it out of me. Wait for tonight and you'll see." She skipped out of the room.

"Abby!" Eric and Nell complained as one.

* * *

><p>Stella stood on the balcony of her hotel room, enjoying the magnificent view it afforded her of the beach and the sea. A soft smile touched her lips as she watched the blue-green waves of the Pacific splash upon the shore. The water glimmered and sparkled in the gentle sunlight, reminding her of the view of the Aegean from when she'd been in Greece.<p>

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in," Stella invited, and the door opened to reveal Flack, still in his T-shirt and sweatpants sleepwear.

"Morning, Stel," he greeted.

"Morning," she returned.

"Enjoying the view?" he asked as he came to stand next to her.

"Yeah," she admitted with a smile as she turned back to look at the ocean. "You never see this in New York."

"Mmm," Flack said noncommittally. Personally, he wasn't really bothered either way – sure, the view was great and all, but he very much preferred his condo in Manhattan. "I got a call from the airport."

"They found your luggage?"

"Yeah. Turns out the Main Wave stoolie who filched it threw it into the storeroom after he got my particulars from it. And the idiots at LAX didn't even think to look there till yesterday." He shook his head. "Unbelievable."

Stella laughed. "I'm guessing this trip didn't make the top five?"

"Stel, it didn't even make the top ten. Don't get me wrong – the folks at OSP are great – but I can't wait to go home. Do you have any idea how Danny will be gloating about witnessing the Giants' victory on Sunday? It's the first game I've missed all season."

Stella shook her head, smiling to herself. Men.

"Come on, then, Detective," she said, making her way back into the room. "Let's go get your clothes back."

* * *

><p><em>20:08<em>

The bar was loud and crowded and filled with dance music, yet the large group of eight agents, three detectives, three technicians, and one ME still managed to find an empty space big enough for them all to gather. This, they found out, was mostly Abby's doing. Apparently she had charmed the bartender into reserving the area for them – although how exactly, no one bothered to ask. Yet the gleeful Goth was not content to stop there. No – she had, they discovered, also reserved four small booths expressly for their use (again, no one wanted to know how she had contrived that).

"Abby, what are we doing?" Tony asked, raising his voice to be heard over the din.

"_We _are going to relax, have fun, and enjoy ourselves." Abby's smile turned smug. "_You _are going to have a nice little date in one of the booths."

"Really?" Tony's smile was suggestive. "Who did you set me up with?" He looked around appreciatively at all the beautiful women in the bar. "One of the waitresses?"

Abby whacked him on the arm. "No, silly. You're going to be with someone from our group."

Tony was in no way daunted by that. "Well, I guess I could live with that. Who am I with? Kensi? Stella?"

"In your dreams," Kensi said teasingly.

"You're not my type," Stella told him.

"Then who –" Tony stopped, and his eyes widened with horror as realization dawned. He turned slowly to face Abby. "_No. _Please, no. Abby, please don't tell me –"

"That you're with Ziva?" McGee smirked. "Oh, yes."

Deeks cringed. "Yikes," he said sympathetically.

"Abby, _why_?" Tony wailed, edging away from said Israelite. "She'll kill me, you know she will."

Ziva crossed her arms and glared at him. "I'm not happy about it either, Tony," she informed him. "Abby, you cannot be serious…"

"I won't last five minutes…" put in Tony.

Abby slapped them both on the head. "That act's not going to work," she told them. "You two both know you're going to stop complaining the minute you get inside that booth. So you're going to behave, play nice, and enjoy each other's company for this date."

"Good luck, DiNozzo," Flack said, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"And _you _are going into the next booth with Stella," Abby declared.

Flack looked taken aback for a moment before he grinned at Stella. "You do owe me a lunch, Stel," he pointed out. "We can make it a date instead, I suppose."

"Oh, we can, can we?" Stella asked with an arched eyebrow; Flack just winked at her.

"Abby, did you bring us here to play matchmaker?" Sam asked suspiciously.

"Oh, relax," Abby said. "It'll be fun. And who knows – maybe you'll all end up dating!" She smiled a huge smile; her victims groaned.

"There is no way we're getting out of this, is there?" Callen asked shrewdly.

"Nope."

Callen sighed. "Okay. Who's next?" He looked around at the group. "There's two booths left, so that means two couples."

"Well, there's you and Kensi…" Said two agents looked at each other in surprise. "…and Eric and Nell."

Nell smiled sweetly – a little _too _sweetly. "You're a little late for that, Abby," she said.

"What do you mean?"

"Eric and I are already dating." Nell settled comfortably into Eric's arms while their team blinked in shock.

"Since when?" Sam demanded.

"How could you not tell us?" Deeks questioned.

Eric held his hands up in surrender, though a smile was playing about his lips. "We were wondering how long it would take you to figure it out."

"Some agents you are," Nell put in. "And _you_ guys," she added to the D.C. team, "didn't even notice that Abby and McGee are together."

Now all eyes turned to the forensics specialist and the cyber genius. McGee blinked sheepishly; Abby just grinned brightly.

Tony was the first to speak. "I knew it!" he crowed triumphantly. "I knew you had to be seeing each other. Didn't I tell you they were seeing each other?" he asked Ziva, nudging her with his elbow. The ex-Mossad just rolled her eyes.

"Um, boss?" McGee asked uncertainly, eyeing Gibbs' stoic face. "You're okay with this, right?"

"You broke Rule #12," was the simply reply. McGee cringed.

"Ah, yeah…well…"

"Wait, what's Rule #12?" Deeks inquired.

"Never date your coworkers," Tony, Ziva, McGee, and Abby all answered at once.

"Ouch," Flack said sympathetically. "But then isn't Abby breaking the rule by coupling everybody up?"

"Yeah, but I'm untouchable, 'cause I'm his favorite. He's not gonna punish me." Abby was positively radiating smugness.

"What about us?" Tony demanded. "You're gonna leave Ziva and me to the wrath of Gibbs?"

"You'll be fine," she insisted. "There are exceptions to every rule – right, Gibbs?"

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. Abby smiled back at him. Gibbs allowed the corner of his mouth to quirk upwards.

"Just go," he told Tony and Ziva. "It's about damn time you two had a real date."

Tony blinked and stared. "What?" he asked in disbelief, pretending to dig his ear. "Did I hear that right?"

"You did," Ziva said, equally incredulous.

"Enough chit-chat," Hetty said authoritatively. "Ms. Sciuto has been kind enough to arrange this for us, and even gone so far to pair you up with partners whose company you will enjoy – so let's not waste precious time. It's a date, for heaven's sake. Go! Enjoy yourselves," she shooed.

Eric and Nell shrugged, smiled at each other, and went off, holding hands. Stella and Flack followed, playfully ribbing each other. Tony and Ziva exchanged muttered comments as they left; no one failed to notice that Tony's arm sneakily came up to circle Ziva's waist before she slapped it away.

Callen and Kensi didn't move. Abby scowled at them.

"What are you waiting for?" she demanded. She pointed in the direction the other couples had disappeared in. "Go on!"

Callen smiled tolerantly. "Abby," he said patiently, "I appreciate what you're trying to do, but Kenz and I are both grown-ups. We don't need you to set us up on dates."

"Are you telling me you two have been secretly seeing each other too?"

"No, but –"

"Then excuse me, but you so clearly _do _need me to set you up, because you obviously haven't thought to do it yourselves." Abby crossed her arms. "Well?"

"Abby, really," Kensi emphasized. "We're fine. We'll just hang out here with you guys."

"You most certainly will not," Hetty declared. "Mr. Callen, Ms. Blye – how many times do I have to tell you that this is not a request? Ms. Sciuto is right – this date will be just the thing you need to unwind after a long and complex case."

"Hetty, you can't seriously be saying –" Callen began.

"Do I _look _like I'm joking, Mr. Callen?" Hetty peered intently at him through her horn-rimmed glasses.

"Hetty," Kensi protested, fighting to keep a smile off her face.

"Don't 'Hetty' me, Ms. Blye. You two have dawdled quite enough, I think. Now go – or will I have to chase you there myself?"

Callen sighed and rolled his eyes. "Fine," he relented. "Come on, Kenz." He casually slung an arm over her shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to do as they walked off – and unlike Ziva, she did not push it off.

Abby heaved a big, satisfied breath. "Finally," she huffed. "They can be _so _stubborn sometimes." She grabbed McGee's hand. "Come on, McGee – let's dance. We've earned it."

"We?" McGee questioned teasingly as she led him away.

"That is so not fair," Deeks complained, watching them go. "How come we're the only ones without a date?" he asked of Sam.

"_You're _the only one without a date," Sam corrected, pulling away. "I, in case you've forgotten, am married."

"You can't seriously tell me you don't appreciate all the lovely ladies around here."

"Deeks," Sam said warningly.

Deeks sighed. "Come on, let's go drown our sorrows in a couple of beers."

Sam shook his head. "Only you, Deeks. Only you."

Then they, too, disappeared into the crowd, leaving only Gibbs, Ducky, and Hetty still standing in their original spot.

"They grow up so fast, don't they?" Ducky remarked once their 'kids' were all out of earshot.

"Not really," Gibbs disagreed. "Tony and Ziva still act like children."

Hetty turned to Gibbs and fixed him with a stare.

"I thought I told you to edit that ridiculous rule."

Gibbs just smiled.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: And...that's the end. But never fear - being the writer I am (I can't seem to stay away from FanFiction for more than a week or so), I already have a new story ready to post tomorrow. It's an **NCIS: Los Angeles** future fic set seven years in the future and entitled **Ain't No Sunshine**. You can find out more about it on my profile. Anyway, it'll be posting tomorrow, so I'll see everyone who's reading it then. Ciao!**_


End file.
